Into the Rift
by nightblight
Summary: She really was past it all. She'd grown, moved on. Right? This is a GSR. The rating has changed to M for language and definite future content. Also contains a light casefile
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

**Chapter 1 : Resignation**

It was, quite frankly, freezing inside the building. Sara Sidle was certain that if she looked hard enough she would see condensation rise as her warm breath hit the icy air of the Crime Lab's main hallway. Someone, irregardless of the cost, had cranked the air conditioner up causing the temperature to drop to somewhere close to sub-zero. It was clearly an attempt to stave off the blistering heat of a Vegas summer day, but it was way too cold for anyone not sporting a thick coat of white fur. "Not cool…," the lanky brunette mumbled to herself, her hands immediately coming up to rub away the goose bumps that had popped up all over her exposed skin the minute she'd stepped into the lab from the early morning Las Vegas sun.

10 am Vegas… it just wasn't right that the thermostat in her car had already hit 135 degrees. She'd worn a tight fitting raspberry colored tank, and some navy lightweight form fitting jeans, in anticipation of another record breaking day. What she hadn't expected was the Arctic- like temperatures of the lab. Another shiver shifted through her, as she made her way along the artificially lit hallways. It was fairly empty considering day shift was already on and they had almost quadruple the staff that graveyard did. There were a few lab techs hovering over their various pieces of equipment, a soft tune drifted out of a stereo in Archie's AV room, but for the most part things were pretty quiet. A quick stop into the locker room yielded the papers she'd come in for. From this point on it was one stop and then home to her warm comfortable bed.

Making her way along the deserted corridor; one office in particular was her destination. A dim glow cast out alternating shadows and light through the evenly spaced slats of the thin blinds, making a strangely stripy pattern on the black laminate floor. He might still be here, she surmised hopefully, taking a few steps closer to the open doorway, the thin sheaf of papers clutched in one delicate hand. If he'd gone home it would have been dark, so that lent hope to the possibility that he hadn't left despite the fact that shift had ended two hours earlier. She'd wanted to talk to him all night, but their schedules hadn't met up and the early dawn capture of their suspect meant that she'd been stuck at PD longer than she'd expected.

There was a flurry of butterflies dancing in the pit of her stomach, making her feel more than a little silly. It's not like he would say no, she rationalized. She had more than enough vacation time saved up, so the days off wouldn't be an issue, mostly it would be the timing of her absence that might ruin her plans. Though she hadn't heard it from him specifically, the office grapevine had rumored that Gil Grissom had booked the weekend off. There had been no solid explanation as to why and Sara hadn't bothered to ask the man in question. However, if you listened to gossip mill, the reasons had run the gauntlet from a cockroach racing world championship, to a passion filled weekend with a mystery woman.

None of it fazed her, anymore. In fact, the dark haired CSI hadn't even checked the schedule to confirm his impending absence, which was something she was really quite proud of. Had it been a few months earlier, things might have been different, but Sara Sidle had decided recently that her heart had been given enough free reign, and it truly was time to get a life. She had, for all intents and purposes, moved on, and the past eight weeks had been great. She'd accepted a few of the many dinner and drink offers she received on a daily basis. She'd taken in some of the newest movies, seen two or three live shows, and traveled to a number of the outlying vineyards. She'd also indulged in several lovers. It was cathartic, and fun, and made her feel like the confident woman who had come to Vegas, from San Francisco, instead of the pale silhouette that she had become over the years.

This was part of the reason she was so nervous now. During her therapy she and her PEAP counselor had discussed her very damaging penchant for seeking validation in all of the wrong places. One of those places - in fact the most elemental - was the man who owned the office she was headed for, so going to him with the small success she held in her hand, felt way too much like seeking approval.

Drawing in a deep breath, she stepped through the door and knocked lightly before realizing that there was not one person, but two in the specimen crammed room. "Sorry to interrupt." Sara fluttered an apology and made to leave, as two pairs of blue eyes refocused their attention on her. "I'll see you tonight." She managed to turn before Grissom's gentle voice stopped her.

"It's okay Sara. Come in, you weren't really interrupting." He waved her in and motioned to the blonde woman seated in front of him. "Sofia just came in to say her good-byes."

A look of complete shock crept across her face, around about the time that she noticed the truly vile odor that permeated the room. "You're leaving?" She choked slightly, her hand going immediately to her nose and mouth. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, what the heck is that smell? Did one of your experiments putrefy or something?" Sara stared at the man on the other side of the desk and fortified her heart. She would not tell herself how attractive he looked in his deep green shirt, nor would she pay attention the fact that he'd lost a few pounds, which accented the masculine lines of his bearded face. She turned away her nose wrinkling, while her brain redirected her fickle heart.

Gil Grissom chuckled, clearly undaunted by the stench and thankfully oblivious to the emotional turmoil his young protégé was suffering.

Sofia raised her hand much like a child in a classroom would. "That would be me, unfortunately, and yes I've showered and changed – twice," She indicated the deep blue lab issue jumpsuit she was wearing.

"Oh… wow… nothing personal but you smell… disgusting." Sara spit the words out, trying desperately not to heave.

"Yeah, six day-old decomp soup, in a dumpster. It was Conrad's going away gift to me." She stated pointedly, her hand absently dragging through her still damp ponytail.

"He's an ass." Sara affirmed, at the same time trying to swallow back part of the egg salad sandwich she'd had for lunch. It was now sitting tenuously in her throat.

Recognizing the symptoms of impending vomiting, Grissom opened his desk drawer. "Here…" He removed a small blue jar of Vicks, held it out to her and grinned as he motioned for her to rub it under her nose.

"Right…," she muttered, dropping her papers on the edge of the desk, and following his instruction. "Sorry…" She popped the lid on, passed it back to him, and then turned to the former dayshift CSI. "So you're leaving?"

The blonde woman nodded. "Yeah, I'm going back to doing what I was trained to do."

Sara nodded silently, and unexpectedly felt regret. "And that would be?"

"A cop, they were looking for a detective in Boulder City. So I'm packing up and heading to the mountains," she replied, her words slightly mournful.

"You know, you shouldn't let Ecklie win at this game." The slim brunette pursed her lips and dropped into a second chair beside the other CSI. Thankfully, the Vicks had alleviated most of the tang of dead flesh.

"I'm not really. It's just with a new supervisor in place on days, and your team being reunited within the next few shifts, I find myself at loose ends. I really don't fit in here any more."

Sara shook her head angrily. "He shouldn't be allowed to do shit like this." Her eyes traveled from Grissom to the woman beside her. "You're very good at what you do, Sofia. It's unfair that you feel you have to leave because of his power play tactics."

Sofia Curtis' jaw went slack. She was more than shocked at the compliment from the younger woman. Though she had never been outwardly hostile like Catherine, she hadn't been overly friendly either.

Grissom's expression mimicked the older woman's, as he studied the look on the pretty brunette's face. He was aware that for the most part there had been some tension between the two women; clearly whatever it had been about, Sara had moved past it. Her countenance was obviously sincere.

"It's okay. Really, I'm kinda looking forward to the change." The blonde woman's voice betrayed her uncertainty.

Sara studied the other CSI for moment, and then rose to leave. "Well it was nice working with you, and good luck." She squeezed her shoulder on her way past. "Come back to visit if the bad guys in Boulder City give you a break." She grinned.

"I will." The blonde woman returned her smile.

"Hey wait." Grissom gazed at her retreating form, as she stopped and turned around. "You wanted to see me for something."

"Oh yeah right…" Sara let out a soft sigh, and pointed to the stack of papers she'd placed on the edge of his desk. "I wrapped the assault case. It's all there in the case file."

"That was fast…" The admiration was clear in his voice. "Is that all?" He asked, expecting that it wasn't. He knew Sara well enough to suspect that the report wasn't the full reason. Had it been, she simply would have dropped into his mail slot as she'd been doing for the past few months. It was a new habit and one that had him feeling emotionally off kilter. He missed her, and as much as he hated to admit it to himself, the moments they would spend nightly discussing her progress, had become something of a touchstone that he'd come to rely on during the previous six years they'd worked together. Not for the first time he wondered if maybe she hadn't found someone else. And the thought hurt him more than he believed possible.

"Uh… well no." She made her way over to the pile and pulled out a separate sheet that lay underneath the file. "I just needed this weekend off, but with Sofia leaving, and you… Well I thought I heard someone say you were going to be off, too. The night shift will be short handed, so it's okay."

"Can I ask why? Or is it personal?" A slight suspicion tinged with dread edged its way into Grissom's thoughts. Maybe she wanted the time off to spend with the new man in her life.

"It's not personal." She shrugged and went on to explain. "About four months ago I submitted an article to the American Academy of Forensic Science, for their journal." Sara flushed slightly. "And they decided to publish it." Absently brushing an errant hair back off of her face she continued. "It's really short notice, but they asked me to speak at their annual conference this weekend in Miami. I… uh… I could have just flown in just for the day, but they want me to do a seminar first thing Saturday morning, and have asked me to do a hands-on presentation midday Sunday. So, unfortunately, it is a full weekend commitment. I would have to fly out Friday afternoon." The excitement in her lush voice was tempered with regret.

A surprised Gil Grissom stared at her a moment before a broad smile spread across his mouth. "Congratulations, that's quite an honor, Miss Sidle."

"Yeah… well I suppose for a newbie. I keep thinking that maybe they had some left over space at the back between the equipment ads and crime stats." She flushed, genuinely pleased at his reaction, and equally miffed at herself for letting it matter so much.

"No…" He shook his head, his blue eyes gleaming. "They don't publish just anything, and you know that. It had to been both intelligent and compelling for them to first publish it, and very relevant for them to have asked you to present at their annual conference. Don't underestimate your skills, Sara."

"Yeah… that's great." Sofia added; a modicum of envy present in her voice.

"Thanks… It was actually a paper that I wrote for an online course I'm taking at UNLV, I decided to get that last credit so I'd have my masters. My professor suggested that I submit it." She couldn't help but grin. "But the request for attendance at the conference is really last minute, and with things the way they are here. It's okay if I don't go."

"It is short notice. Normally they contact you at least a few months before hand. When did you get that?" He pointed to the papers she still held in hand.

Sara looked momentarily perplexed. "Last night. Apparently, Ecklie left it with Judy. She gave it to me when I came in. He had a sticky note attached to it saying that I had his permission, pending your approval."

The pale blue of his eyes darkened. "Can I see those?" He clutched them as she dropped them into his waiting hand. Looking at her over the rim of his glasses, he grinned tightly. "I smell a rat."

Both women in the room exchanged curious glances as Grissom set aside the case file and flipped through the letter in question. A second later he held it up and pointed to the date stamp notarized on the back page of the letter. "This is from the mailroom;, unless it's marked private, they open it and divert it to the person in question. He received it seven weeks ago."

"Son of a bitch…" Sara muttered, grabbing the letter from her boss' hand. "Why wouldn't he have just given it to me then?"

"Who knows why Ecklie does anything?" Sofia put in.

"I do. As much as it's a real feather in the lab's cap to have one of its CSIs published in a magazine of this standing, he probably would have preferred it not be you." He looked at his former student grimly.

Anger raged through Sara's blood. "That's so not fair…" She spat. "I won't let him get away with this. What? Was he thinking that if I got it this late, I wouldn't be able to go?"

"I'm afraid that's probably exactly what he was thinking." Sofia commented, taking that letter from the younger woman's hand and reading it over.

"He knew the score with night shift, and that Sofia was leaving for the past two weeks. He figured we'd be too short handed to be able to spare you, especially, with me gone, too." He stared at the willowy brunette and smiled. She was pacing, her anxiety clearly evident in the stiffness of her back and the glare on her face. He didn't want to be Conrad Ecklie if she did manage to catch up with him sometime before the weekend. "It would call into question his judgment since he had recommended your firing last year, and here you end up getting some pretty big kudos from a highly reputable forensics magazine. It's a real nod from your peers, Sara. And if you do well at the conference a note from the Academy will be sent, so it can be placed in your file."

"This really sucks. You know, I can hack most the stuff that he does around here, because we all kinda get nailed with it. But this is a personal vendetta, and it's not right. Just wait until I get my hands on him." Her hand went to her mouth, as the strength of the Vick began to wane. "Can I have some more of that stuff, she pointed to the jar still sitting on his desk, and grabbed it when he nodded.

Grissom shook his head, as he watched her dab the glistening goo under her nose. He didn't want her going after the assistant director, since it had the potential to be an even nastier confrontation than the last one. "Never mind, I'll handle Conrad. You go home and pack."

"What?" She stared at him wide-eyed.

"Catherine's covering for me this weekend – I promised her the next two off. So I'll just get Nick and Warrick to cover for you and Sofia." He opened one of the lower drawers in his desk and shuffled aside a few papers before finding the one he wanted. Taking it out, he signed the bottom of it and held it out to Sara. "Fill it in and leave it with Judy." He smiled at her and winked. "I look forward to hearing your lecture and taking part in your presentation, Miss Sidle."

Shock registered on her face and her mouth dropped open. "You're going to be there." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Why else would I be taking the weekend off?" He asked surprised that she didn't already know.

"Um… Well… If you listened to the office gossip pool, and were willing to place a bet, the choices were; a cockroach racing championship, a sin filled weekend away with a hot new girlfriend …what were the other two?" She rubbed the side of her head, thoughtfully.

"A coaster marathon at some amusement park, or a weekend away at Lake Tahoe restocking your bug collection…" Sofia filled in the rest, a laugh easily rolling off her tongue as she took in the disgruntled look on her supervisor's countenance.

Grissom rolled his eyes and reached into his desk. "What did you place your money on?" He asked Sara, a glimmer of triumph racing across his face as he pulled out a long thick envelope.

"None… of them… It's not my business to speculate." She told him plainly. "I figured if you wanted people to know you would have told them." She grinned and took the packet he held out to her. "What's this?"

"I suspect Ecklie didn't pass this onto you, either. It's the information package and itinerary for the convention. They list only the time slots for the seminars not what the actual topic is, since not everyone is confirmed right away. When you get there they will give you an updated list, but everything else is accurate; Dinners, meet and greets, local tours etc… They should also have booked you a flight and have a room set aside in your name. The academy doesn't do anything half way, _everything_ is comp'd. You may want to contact the number on the front to confirm your presence and find out for sure if you're still booked, though. Since Ecklie left it so long they may have assumed you won't be attending."

"I'll kill him and feed him to Roy's white tigers…"

Grissom smiled at her. "You'll go home and pack and let me deal with it."

"Oh man… what smells in here?"

All three pairs of eyes turned to the imposing figure standing in the door looking, for all the world, like he was about to empty the contents of his stomach onto the hallway floor. It was an unusual look for the confident and somewhat cocky 36 year-old. Easily six four, and noticeably well defined through the tight fitting black t-shirt that spread across his wide chest, the visual of him appearing nauseated made him seem weaker that his physique would indicate.

"Officer Weldon…" Grissom nodded at the dark haired jean clad man, and motioned him into the office.

"Hey Joe…" Both Sara and Sofia welcomed him at the same time and ended up smirking at each other.

He nodded in their direction and coughed slightly. A thick hand still clapped over his nose and mouth he held out a file to Grissom. "I just got off and was coming by here, anyway, so Captain Brass asked me to drop this off to you."

"Thanks…" Grissom eyed the file and placed it on top of the one Sara had given him earlier.

"Witness statements for the Haggy case…" He looked appreciatively at the slim brunette in front of him and then threw his chin in the general direction of the entomologist's desk. "The Captain had them done up early so he wanted to get them to you. He said he emailed you a copy for your own records."

"Great… One down and only 263 more cases to solve..." Sara grinned at him. "So other than playing courier, what brings you to our marvelous lab, Officer?"

"You, actually… Donalson, Jobe and I are doing breakfast at the diner and we wanted to know if you wanted to join us..." He turned away and stepped out into the hallway for a moment and took a deep breath before returning. "Man that reeks…" His green eyes scanned the packed room for whatever it was that could be giving off such a heinous odor, and realized that almost anything in there could be the potential culprit.

"How did you even know I was still at the lab?"

"Jobe saw you leave PD and figured you would head back here, he suggested we stop by and ask." He winked at her, an action that drew a darks scowl from the man behind the desk.

"Should I feel stalked?" Sara asked lightly, humor etched in her voice.

"You could, but there is always an ulterior motive where Jobe is concerned and in this case it's his stomach."

"Isn't it always..." Sara laughed at this and noted the snicker that escaped Sofia as well. Jobe was as wide as he was tall, about forty years-old and bald as a baby's butt. Inevitably, the bottom line where he was concerned was usually food related; specifically how much, when, and how often was he going to get to eat. Once at a crime scene he'd left three times for provisions in a 6 hour period.

"He says we always get bigger portions when you are there. He thinks the cook has a crush on you." He gagged slightly behind his hand.

Sara rolled her eyes and coughed. "Right… that's so not true."

"So wadda ya say?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, drawing another grimace from Grissom. "You would earn the undying gratitude of some of LVPD's finest."

A soft sigh escaped the young CSI. "I would, but I'm wiped. I was called in to help gather evidence for swing, and then I drew that assault case on my own shift. My bed is calling me as we speak." As if to punctuate her comment, a large yawn escaped her full mouth. "Next week sometime, promise." She studied him for a moment. "Shouldn't you be heading home to the wife and new baby, anyway? Have breakfast with them."

"Are you kidding me? If I don't eat when I'm out, I don't eat at all." He left the room for another breath and then came back. "The baby has June up every two hours. She sleeps whenever she can, so I'm the invisible man at home right now."

Sara grinned wholeheartedly. "If you made me squeeze a ten pound baby out from a hole that's supposed to be the size of a silver dollar, I might want you to disappear, too."

"Amen…" Sofia piped up her eyes never leaving Grissom's face. It was an interesting study in contrasts. The man she thought that she'd gotten to know over the six months they'd worked together wasn't as aloof and detached as he let on. And as suddenly as the thought had dawned on her, she realized equally as quickly that there was definitely something she'd missed.

Officer Weldon guffawed heartily.

Even Grissom smiled.

"You could ask Greg. I think he's still in DNA trying to help Mia clear up the back log." Sara suggested.

"Yeah I will, but he doesn't have your legs…" He smiled exposing a mouthful of perfectly placed white teeth, and then clamped his hand over his face again. "God that's awful. What is that stench? You hiding a dead body in here, Dr. Grissom?"

"No a live one I'm afraid, Joe." It was Sofia who replied. "I got stuck dumpster diving with a decomp," she admitted.

He shook his head. "Hell, how can you stand yourself, Curtis?"

"After 12 years, you learn to breathe through your ears," the blonde CSI told him drolly.

"Well shit." He stepped out to take in some fresh air and thought better of coming back into the room. "If you can scrape the smell off you, you're more than welcome to join us, too." He called out and turned towards DNA. "Catch you later…" He waved and disappeared.

Sara screwed up her face and dropped her gaze to the other CSI. "Did you do the lemon juice thing?"

"I was out and days used the emergency stash yesterday on those girls out at the landfill." She mumbled sorrowfully.

"I have a jug in my locker. I'm gonna roll, my eyes are closing as we speak. I'll leave the juice at the front desk." She waved and turned to go. "Good luck…"

"Thanks Sara…" The blonde woman nodded, a little sad to see her time at the lab coming to an end.

The young CSI was on the other side of the door when she turned and beamed broadly at her boss. "Hey, thanks Gris," she said softly and waved the permission form he'd signed off on, and the information package, in his direction.

He smiled tenderly at her and watched her leave a lump catching solidly in his throat.

"You really should do something about that." Sofia dropped her head to the side and considered the man sitting across from her for a moment.

"What?" Grissom asked testily, his hand errantly running through his closely cropped beard.

"That wicked crush you seem to have on a certain brunette." Her eyebrows shot up, as she waited for his reaction. It was exactly what she had expected a bright red flush shot from the neckline of his deep green polo shirt right to the top of his forehead.

To hide his embarrassment, he removed his glasses and pretended to clean them with a nearby rag. "Am I that transparent?" he asked, the question heavy with resignation.

"No. I mean, not until today." She smirked at him.

"It's not a crush." He looked penitently at her over the rim of his glasses as he returned them to his face.

"I know. I was just being kind." She licked her lips, and nodded in his general direction. "So what are you going to do about it, Dr. Grissom?"

"The same thing I have been doing all along." He stared at her a moment.

She shook her head. "And that would be?"

"Nothing..." Grissom cast his gaze over her head and allowed it to settle on his the jar holding his two headed scorpion.

"That seems to have worked well for you…" The sarcasm literally dripped from her words.

A thick sigh dropped from his mouth. "I can't. She's my subordinate. It would be wholly inappropriate. You know it, as well as I do"

"I know no such thing." She grinned slyly, and then winked at him. "Do you remember Tim Weller?"

Grissom nodded firmly. He was the day shift supervisor for ten years prior to retiring and moving to San Francisco two years earlier. "You know I do."

"Well, so did I…" She leveled a lascivious look at the perplexed entomologist. "Intimately, for about 8 years..."

The graying scientist's mouth dropped open wide enough that you could have fit his Miss Piggy specimen in it – jar and all. "I had no idea…" He looked embarrassed and amused by the revelation.

She pursed her lips, and grinned. "Well, we kept it pretty quiet, although, it was no real secret around the lab. Especially to the people who worked with us…"

"Did Conrad know…?" Grissom enquired, his curiosity hijacking his usual common courtesy. He would never normally get involved in asking information about a person's private life, but she was volunteering it, and her guidance might go a long way towards preserving, and perhaps building, what Sara and he shared, as indefinable as it appeared be.

"Oh yeah…" She choked slightly and then flushed a deep crimson. "He once caught us mid screw in the supply cupboard… Never have I been quite so embarrassed."

A thick hand came up to cover a smirk, and to soften the follow up laugh that burst out of the graveyard supervisor. "Talk about coitus interruptus." His indigo eyes gleamed.

"Mmmmm…" Sofia nodded gravely. "Never tried it at work again… Bad scene…" She inattentively toyed with her damp ponytail, trying to force her poker straight hair into something of ringlet. "But my point is; there are no standing rules about personal relationships as long as you are discrete and stay out of the supply closet." She stared at him keenly. "Do you know if she feels the same way?"

Grissom's heart clenched and a blazing heat started in the pit of his stomach, at the taunting vision of him and Sara sprawled passionately across his desk. He quickly beat down the image, and sobered. "I know she did; now I don't have a clue. She may have gotten tired of waiting for me to make up my mind."

Sofia shook her head. "Well you'll never know if you don't ask. So what are you waiting for?"

His thoughts drifted to the up beat attitude she'd been sporting lately. She'd been quick to smile, and a lot more relaxed over the last few months. "I…" His eyes dropped to the folder in front of him - the one Officer Weldon had dropped off. "I think she might already be seeing someone." He admitted desolately.

"Ahhh…" The blonde CSI thought back to the gossip she'd been privy to, and then gave her head a negative shake. "No… I know she's gone out a few times with different people. But from what I've heard, there's no one special."

Grissom's brows rose up his deeply tanned forehead. "Where _do_ you get this information from?"

"Lab gossip… 80 accuracy rate." She grinned devilishly. "It's not like she's trying to hide it and this kind of info passes between the lab and the PD all the time." Rising she reached out a hand. "I've gotta run. I have loads of packing to do…"

A large hand folded around Sofia's slender fingers. "Thank you, for everything…" Grissom nodded genuinely.

"Good luck." She thought back to some of the more tense moments she'd shared with the slim brunette, now they made more sense in light of the present revelations. Sara had probably been jealous of another woman occupying Grissom's time. "If it's any help the rumors are only recent, and I think she probably feels the way you do, so don't turn your back on it, Gil, you deserve to have a life outside of this lab."

"Thanks…" He said shyly, and watched as she left the office, before a memory that had been nagging at him finally made its way through the fog in his head. "Hey Sofia…" he called to her before she cleared the doorway. "Didn't Weller leave because of some kind of sexual scandal?"

"Yeah… but it had nothing to do with me or the lab…" She huffed slightly, and then threw up her hands in resignation. "Turns out, the he was into men as well as women, and he was caught with his pants down doing a fourteen year old male prostitute."

Grissom's lips formed a silent 'O'.

"Yeah..." She waved a silent goodbye and headed for the front desk and the jug of lemon juice that was supposed to be waiting for her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

* * *

**Chapter 2:** Revenge

Someone was going to get their ass kicked, Sara surmised. For the past few days an unknown party had been toying with the thermostat somewhere deep in the bowls of the building. Every day Sara had tried to predict what to wear, and she had been way off, so it was no surprise that her choice of jeans, a thin blue long sleeve shirt, over top of a white tank, had her sweating bullets under the lab coat she wore. "Damn it…" She cursed and swiped at the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of the coat. She was going to find the thermostat and print it, if it was the last thing she did. Then she could nail the culprit and finally get her wardrobe straight. Another fresh beading of sweat had already begun to form. She was going to have to shower after shift, giving her less time to do everything else she had to get done. A tremor of excitement moved through her. It was early Friday morning and she was going to the conference.

Sara suspected that Ecklie had been giving her a wide berth for the past two days. While the man was generally gone when the clock chimed four thirty, he would often come in thirty minutes before shift to see how much damage he could lay-down before the ever irksome nightshift staff went home.

What good was being right hand to the king when only your own regular day staff cronies saw you?

No he'd always felt a need to make his presence known by poking around just long enough to keep both graveyard and alternately swing on their toes. But this hadn't been the case for the two previous shifts, and not that anyone was missing the guy by any means, but they were beginning to wonder… Was he sick, or simply in hiding from something?

Rumor had it that the generally even tempered Gil Grissom had let him have it two days earlier and that had a certain slender brunette wondering; firstly, was the rumor true? Secondly, what had transpired? And thirdly, why didn't anyone capture the blessed event on film?

Glancing at her watch, Sara grimaced slightly. She had two more hours to finish processing the bed sheets from her most recent assignment, an thrilling trick roll involving two prostitutes, one of each gender, and an out of town elderly man who would most certainly have a lot of explaining to do to his wife of 45 years. 70 years old and frisky as a kitten, the man had actually pinched her, while she was at the crime scene. She'd thought only briefly about swinging a fist at him, but decided that there was a good chance her hand would probably go right through his gut and end up protruding out his back. Horny didn't mean healthy, and despite his proclivity for multiple sexual partners he had looked decidedly frail. Instead, she'd cast an evil smile his way and told him that out of concern for him, she was going to call his wife explain the situation to her, and reassure her that her husband was okay, and despite the circumstance, having a wonderful time in the city of sin.

Detective Vega had laughed his head off, while the victim had been a complete gentleman from that point on.

So this is how she found herself locked in the brightly lit layout room clipping semen stains and vaginal contributions out of the cheap hotel bed sheets while mentally listing the things she had to get ready for her departure at noon.

Grissom had been right. The academy had booked a room and flight out for her, and fortunately still had the reservations in place when she'd gotten through to the event's planner. Apparently, it was standard to drop all reservations and bookings only 24 hours before the actual conference, so she had been in under the wire by a whole day. "Yay…" She muttered to herself, still trying to come up with sneaky form of revenge for Conrad Ecklie.

She hadn't seen Grissom since the morning of their conversation, but they'd been playing a post-it note version of telephone tag. It started out with her leaving one on his desk detailing her conversation with the people at the academy, and had moved through flight plans, hotel reservations, and ended up with him offering to drive her to the airport since they were taking the same plane out, and were staying in the same hotel. She'd waited a full day before deciding to accept his offer, which she assured herself was more out of common sense that any secret desire to have him come to her house to pick her up.

'_You're lying to yourself'_ That small voice in her head had warned her. To which, she'd responded a quick _"fuck-off"_ before dropping the last post-it on his desk.

"Hey how are things '_cumming'_ along?" A lewd grin was plastered across the face of the young man standing in the door. Today his dark highlighted hair was a poor attempt at a spiky do, since it had gotten so long over the past few months that controlling it with even the strongest gel was an impossibility.

Sara smirked evilly. Despite his occasionally being an annoyance, she was extremely proud of the former lab tech. He'd grown up, proved to be as intelligent as she'd expected, and was turning into a confident and quick CSI. "Well…" She pointed the growing collection of specimen jars spread out across the lighted table. "As you can see… Either Mr. Alfonse was very energetic… which I'm not discounting… Or this is one hotel in Vegas I am never going to stay at." Her hand drifted across the expanse of the sheet which at the present resembled Swiss cheese. In fact after cutting out the bodily fluids there were more holes, than material left.

"Well… you know what they say… 'Easy cum easy go'. I think there was a lot of both happening in that room." Greg grimaced.

Sara rolled her dark eyes, and rubbed the sweat from her forehead yet again. "One more comment like that, and I am going to have to volunteer you to help Mia process these in DNA. It's way too much for one person." She told him in mock disgust, her hands moving over the flimsy fabric, and zeroing in on yet another outlined stain.

"Meanie…"

Sara nodded and pursed her lips. "And loving every minute of it…" She stated a laugh was clearly present in her voice, as she scooped up the latest sample with a set of tweezers and popped it into another jar. "Grab me a large bindle please?" She studied the young man made his way over to the pile she had placed on another small table. His choice of attire had gotten better over the few months. For the most part he'd moved to solid t-shirts, shirts, and jeans or dress pants, much the standard for everyone except for Catherine who'd jazzed up her wardrobe with a variety of cleavage baring tops and tight pants, and Grissom, whom she was certain, had a never ending selection of short sleeve shirts and dress slacks. Today, he was sporting a dark gray 't' with matching jeans, and both were covered by a standard issue lab coat.

"Here…" He held out the baggie, as Sara stripped off and dropped the gloves she was wearing inside.

"I am dying…" She told him moving back from the table and shucking aside her lab coat. "Whoever is messing with the temperature in this place is going to get it." She grabbed the bottom of her blue shirt and tugged it over her head exposing her middle slightly as her tank moved up with it. She couldn't help but laugh as Greg let go with some vocalized stripper music and then let out a soft gasp.

"Sara Sidle what have you been up to, you naughty girl?"

A deep red flush crept up her cheeks as her eyes followed the direction of his, and realized what it was that had caught his attention. There, just below the rim of her white shirt, was a tiny jeweled dragonfly dangling from her navel. She quickly tugged the tank down over it and went to slip back into the lab coat. "Nothing…" She leveled her gaze at him in such a way that he knew he was to keep his discovery quiet.

"Oh… no, no, no…" He shook his head and made his way around the table. "That's a belly piercing, and I want to see it."

"No Greg." She backed away grinning.

"Please… come on…" He leveled her with a lust filled stare and flashed her, his most charming smile.

"You know, begging a woman for anything is a sign of weakness." She informed him her back now pressed up against the tack board.

"Women always make me weak in the knees anyway, especially, if they are tall beautiful brunettes, with really cute smiles." He winked at her. "Come on… just a peek."

Sara let out a resigned sigh and tugged her top up just enough for him to see the item in question. "There, satisfied?"

"No…" He leaned in for a closer look. "You are such a clean freak that I'm surprised you would let someone do this to you." His hand reached out to lift up the tiny jeweled insect.

"I didn't. I did it to myself." She told him proudly.

"Ouch…" He grinned studying the bug. It had a slim body made of jade, with sapphire and ruby wings, and a head made out of tiny diamonds. "This must have hurt? Are the stones real?"

"It did and yes…" She told him, just about the time the air in the room changed. It was like an electric charge had gone off, and she knew that that could mean only one thing. When she looked up it was into two dark blue eyes that were peeking over Greg's shoulder. The look on his face was one of amusement and confusion, tempered by a baser emotion that both frightened and thrilled Sara. She was certain that she had seen desire in Gil Grissom's eyes. A crimson flush tracked its way from her toes straight through to the top of her head, and she quickly pulled the tank down over her exposed belly.

"Hey…" Greg whined.

"You know, Dragonflies are a wondrous species, both beautiful and delicate, they are also incredibly strong."

If the whole situation hadn't been so embarrassing it would have been funny.

Greg jumped and backed away, immediately into Grissom, who let out a low yelp of pain as the young man mashed his toes under his sneaker clad feet.

"I uh…." He grabbed a handful of already labeled jars and backed to the door, tripping over a chair on the way. "I'm gonna take these to Mia, and give her a hand processing them." He told them both, stumbling out of the room and hastily making his way down the corridor.

Silence was heavy in the room for a moment as the two remaining people tried to regroup from what felt like an almost intimate moment. "I think you scared him…" Sara was the first to break the quiet, her lush voice spiraling around the two of them and echoing slightly between the four walls; she was hoping to redirect the focus from herself.

Grissom would have none of it. He found the jewelry and the sight of the cool colorful gems against her creamy white skin, to be very erotic, and her choice of adornment exciting if not encouraging. "It's beautiful…" He told her his voice thick with something the slim brunette was afraid to identify.

"Huh?" Sara found herself unable to move as he reached out, shoved her top up slightly and pointed to the ornamental bug. "Oh… thanks." She swallowed hard. "It was a spur of the moment decision."

Blue eyes met brown, and Grissom smiled before pulling her top back down and turning away. "Lots of samples…" He noted as he wondered past the bed sheets, the moment apparently forgotten under the guise of work.

Sara sucked in a cleansing breath, in an attempt to hide how off kilter his touch had made her feel. "Lots of sex…" She countered, pulling her lab coat completely around her and working a few buttons into place. "Either the old guy was a complete horn dog or this hotel has some serious sanitation issues."

"Probably a little of both..." He told her, studying the sheet. "Though I imagine Mr. Alfonse is quite popular around the senior's residence."

Sara shook her head. "Married 45 years… lives on a farm, used to be a clerk at city hall."

"Okay then he was probably popular on whatever passes for prostitution row in Natural Bridge Alabama." He offered.

"Mmm…" She shook her head again, grabbed one of the nearby jars, and started writing on it. "Population 28, I don't even think that they have a main road, let alone more than one working girl or boy for that matter. I'm not even sure they have corner for a prostitute to ply their trade on."

"Then I guess we know why he came to Vegas…" Grissom said scooping up a few of the finished jars in his thick hands.

Sara quirked a curious eyebrow at him, before continuing her labeling.

"He'd clearly worn out his local resources." Grissom deadpanned, and headed for the door.

The young CSI couldn't help but laugh, as she shoved aside another jar.

"When you are done with these, hand off the case to Nick, he and Greg will finish it up. I'll be by your place to get you at 9:30."

The willowy brunette watched him through the glass walls, as he disappeared out of sight. He did not look great in his navy, striped shirt, and slimming black pants. She lied to herself. And she most certainly hadn't noticed that he had trimmed his beard and gotten his hair cut. Nope, she told herself reassuringly. She'd noticed none of that. Meanwhile, in the back of her mind, that nagging little voice – the one she wanted so desperately to ignore at times coughed up another thought; _Sara Sidle you are so severely fucked_…

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing. Also unlike my other story - This one is a WIP - I will do my best to update regularily though.

* * *

**Chapter 3:** **Rundown**

Gil Grissom wasn't sure what he expected when the door to Sara's apartment opened, but the blonde haired, blue eyed, police officer with a striking smile and build like a Mack truck certainly wasn't it.

Grinning tightly, the enigmatic entomologist took in the man in front of him before moving past the young cop and entering the apartment. "Officer Marshall, what are you doing here?" he asked, eyeing the cup of coffee in the man's hand and the shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"Oh…" He held up the coffee. "Just finishing this up…" He pulled back a final gulp and moved around the counter to drop the cup into the open dishwasher. "Miss Sidle offered me some in exchange for dropping her home."

"Last time I checked she had a car…" He informed the young man tersely.

"Oh she does, but it wouldn't start, so I had it towed to the motor pool shop and dropped her home." He grinned dangerously.

"Great use of department resources…" Grissom commented dryly.

"Hey, she's one of our own, and we look after our people. You know that." He bent over and closed the door to the dishwasher. "Besides…" He cast a look towards the bedroom door and dropped his voice a tad. "If it racks up some brownie points for me then all the better." He shrugged. "Then maybe she'll go out to dinner with me." He winked at the nightshift supervisor, and then sobered. "Hey you work with her, do you know if she is seeing anyone?"

Grissom was dumb struck; firstly, he was certain that no man had ever winked at him before, and secondly, he couldn't believe the gall this guy had. He was going to spit out a ream of information about rules and regulations, and throw in a few lectures about consideration, common courtesy, and inappropriateness, but he was interrupted by the appearance of a tall brunette at her bedroom doorway.

"Hey Gris..." Sara's voice traveled easily through the small apartment, as she distractedly grabbed her kit, and laptop up in her hands.

Grissom's heart caught in his throat. She was freshly dressed in what could only be described as a breathtaking, and form fitting, cherry red summer dress. It was perfect for her. Though sleeveless, it wasn't low cut or revealing. It was a v-neck and it ended a little above the knee, baring just enough to titillate the imagination. A fumbling "Hi." was all his addled brain could come up with, amidst all the covetous synapses taking place inside of his head.

"I'm almost ready," she told him. Oblivious to his stare, she walked by him, leaving the scent of tangy lemons and soap in her wake. "I just have one more bag."

"Where is it?" he asked, absently noting that she had chosen not to straighten her hair after her shower.

A cascade of damp ringlets bounced around her face, as she spun to point out her bathroom bedroom doorway. "Just inside the washroom…"

"I'll get it." he announced, before the younger man used it as another opportunity to rack up more brownie points.

"I guess I'd better be going…" Officer Marshall declared as he made his way towards the door. "If you want I can drop your car back here, when it's fixed" he offered.

"Thanks Tim." Sara smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. "It's okay though, you've done enough…"

"It's really not a problem," he countered, at the same time flashing her a stunning smile.

"No, no, it's okay." She opened the door for him to leave, and ushered him out. "I'm just glad you came by when you did." Sara told him, as he reluctantly exited the apartment.

"Me too..." He grinned and threw a slight wave in Grissom's direction. "See yah later Doc… And I'll see you when you get back." He said winking at Sara before clearing the doorway.

"What was the matter with your car?" Grissom came up behind the slim brunette, startling her slightly.

"I have no idea..." She smiled over her shoulder, and grabbed her purse off the small table beside the door. "If I'd had the time I would have taken it into the garage and figured it out myself. But Tim happened along and offered me a ride and some free mechanical services… So I let him handle it." Turning around she eyed the tall graying man no more than a foot in front of her. Her heart beat a little faster. He looked deliciously casual in a dark fitted t-shirt and light jeans, and he was staring at her curiously. "What?" She checked the front of her dress to see if she'd dropped toothpaste on herself or something.

"You're wearing a dress…" He stammered.

Sara shot him a speculative look. "It's my inalienable right as the proud owner of two X chromosomes." She smiled at the creep of red that moved over his face.

"I… yeah…" He was discombobulated by her proximity and the softness of her femininity. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress before," he commented plaintively.

"Mmmm…" She nodded slowly and carefully moved around him and into the living room to gather the light sweater she'd left slung over the couch. "I know you won't believe this…" She told him, grabbing the kit and laptop up off the floor and then moving along side him to take the handle of her suitcase. "But I do own several of them, and I wear them often, just never to work." Sara's hand met with dead air as Grissom yanked the case away from her grab radius, and gently tugged the laptop strap off her shoulder.

The meaning of her last statement was not lost on him, and he felt his chest clench tightly. She'd offered him the chance to spend time with her outside of work, and he'd refused her. It had been a knee jerk reaction to a difficult situation. The potential loss of his hearing had been a debilitating realization. And she was so very much younger than him. How could he ask her to commit to a relationship with a man who was both emotionally and physically disabled? He knew he couldn't give her what she needed. He had convinced himself of this fact. Yet try as he might his heart wouldn't let her go. It was a fact that was made all that much more painful by the reality that she appeared to be moving on. And now looking back on her new outlook and the ready string of suitors that appeared to be lining up at her door, he couldn't help but wonder, mournfully, if his reluctance - nay, fear - hadn't cost him what would probably be the most important relationship in his life.

Noting the silence and the sudden sadness in his eyes, Sara smiled softly at him and nudged him out the door, before casting a final glance around her place.

_God, how Gilbert Grissom could still make her heart ache with one simple look…_

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play. 

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

**Chapter 4 : Race**

The drive to the airport had been tense and relatively silent. While Sara focused on some notes she was making for her seminar, Grissom mentally cursed both Sara's new found popularity with the male species and the unusually heavy traffic volume. A drive that should normally have taking fifteen or twenty minutes ended up taking a full hour, making for a harried check-in and even more stressful trip through security. The proper identification had not helped matters at all; they were still treated the same as the rest of the travelers, and were forced to open all carry-ons for manual inspection. By they time they made it to boarding, they were in full dash mode and genuinely concerned about missing the flight. The only high point was the discovery that they were traveling business class. Neither had bothered with the details during their frenetic check-in, so when the flight attendant shooed them contemptuously towards the front of the plane, both were a little surprised, but pleased at the same time.

Grasping Sara's kit, Grissom shoved it into the overhead compartment along side his entomological kit and slammed the door shut. "If you want you can take the window seat" he offered, his hand absently shifting to the small of her back to nudge her in front of him.

Fiddling with something in her laptop case, she cast a glanced over her shoulder at him and tried desperately to ignore the heat that his touch was dredging from her weary body. She had gone in during swing to finish up notes on the previous night's case, and then worked Mr. Alfonse's case until she absolutely had to pass it off. The car incident had merely made her more worn out, so when she arrived at home the last thing she wanted to do was prepare for a four hour flight. The only reprieve from her exhaustion was the cool invigorating shower she'd had, but all of that energy had been siphoned off at this point, leaving her devoid of much of anything other than the desire for a pillow and something to lean her head on. However, she still had some preparation to do before Sunday's hands-on presentation, and she knew it wouldn't get done once she checked in at the hotel. "It's okay; you take the window seat and get some rest." She picked up the small flight pillow she'd grabbed from the overhead compartment and passed it to him. "I still have some stuff to finish up." She shuffled aside in the small space afforded, and waited as he moved in and took his seat. Her body already missed his touch, while the rational part of her mind told her it was a good thing he'd moved his hand before she pinned him to his seat and made good on one of her many Grissom fantasies.

_God! You have it so bad... You are supposed to be over him, REMEMBER_…? That little voice inside of her head reminded her. Running a slim hand through her ringlets, Sara slipped into the seat and tucked her laptop under it as she had been instructed to do by the overly cheerful flight attendant, who had introduced herself as Nanette.

The woman had to be on something, the young CSI surmised, rolling her eyes and then casting a slight glance at the man who'd become the bane of her existence over the last 6 years. He was already making good use of the pillow. With it wedged between the end of the seat and the wall, he'd managed to find a comfortable neck position and appeared to have drifted off. Sara studied him a moment, her dark eyes settling on the salt and pepper of his closely cropped beard. Abstractly, she wondered what it would be like to feel the roughness of it against her bare skin. This set off an all too familiar war between her head and her heart which ended, as always, in a stalemate.

_You are pathetic…_

_Fuck off!_

Sara was contemplating; firstly, the very real possibility that she was beginning to exhibit clear cut signs of MPD, and secondly, whether such a dissociative mental disorder could be brought on by sheer frustration at the hands of the former object of her affection, when suddenly a dangling navy silk tie bopped her in the nose.

Tilting her head up Sara noted the tie's owner was a very attractive, short haired Brad Pitt look alike who was dressed in an expensive dark business suit and in possession of a pair of adorable green eyes. That is about as far as she got in her speculation, as the thick leather brief case he was trying to cram into an already over stuffed compartment broke free from its handle and crashed down painfully onto her head.

The loud squawk of pain she let out startled the man snoring softly next to her, and he was immediately awakened, her name already rolling off her lips.

"Oh shit… I'm, so sorry." The pseudo _Brad_ fumbled and flustered, at the same time grabbing at the broken briefcase that had landed half on her lap.

Pushing it aside, the willowy brunette clutched her forehead as both men began tugging at her arm in an attempt to pry her hand away from the point of impact.

_Brad _was still apologizing profusely, as Sara shook them both off. "Stop!" she ordered, and waited for both men to stop fussing.

"Thank you." she told them a jagged sigh escaping her full lips, as she finally pulled her hand away from where the bag had hit her.

"It's bleeding." Grissom threw the accusation at the other man and grabbed a tissue from his pocket. "Here…" He stood up into a forced semi-hunched position and dabbed at the wound slightly.

"Gris… You should be wearing gloves." Sara chided him, wincing slightly as the Kleenex pulled at the injury.

"You forget, I see your semi-annual medical evaluation." he reminded her smugly, his fingers working diligently over the cut. The skin was split for about two inches right at the hair line, and didn't appear to want to stop oozing. "It came across my desk last week, as a matter of fact."

"Cute… Owww… damn…" Slapped his hand away, and jerked her head to the side. "That hurts… what, were you sadist in another life?"

"Who said anything about _another_ life; what's the matter with this one?" he grinned, trying to ease the situation a little. He didn't like to see her hurt, despite the relatively small size of the cut.

Sara scowled at him.

"Excuse me Miss…" _Brad_ was frantically trying to get the attention of the flight attendant who was heavily involved in an animated discussion with another crew member.

"Stop moving… or the blood will drip onto your dress." Grissom pulled out his best; _I'm the boss, don't mess with me…_ voice - the one he generally used with Greg and Nick - and lightly grasped the pretty brunette by the chin. Then placing the tissue over the cut, he nudged her head upwards so he could get a good look at her face. Concerned blue eyes met brown as he freely stroked the delicate flesh along her jawbone with his thumb. "You're going to have a goose egg." He told her plainly. "And I think you might need stitches."

Her normally pouted mouth was twisted in pain. "I'm okay" she assured him, and then turned to _Brad_ who'd finally managed to get the flight attendant's attention, and was now holding a first aid kit in his hand. "Really, I'm fine." she assured the still anxious man.

"I'm so sorry." He apologized yet again a dropped the kit on his chair. Opening it, a quizzical look crossed his handsome face.

The man clearly wasn't a doctor, Sara deducted, as she watched him dig around inside the kit. He appeared uncertain as to which of its contents he should utilize. She was going to start telling him what he should grab when he appeared to have decided.

Shucking aside some of the larger items, he spotted some antiseptic wipes and pulled them out along with a pair of rubber gloves. Opening the package he withdrew one of them and held the gloves and the wipe out to Grissom.

"Thank you…" the graveshift supervisor stated pointedly, before waving off the gloves and taking the proffered antiseptic. "This is going to sting a little." Grissom warned her as he tenderly turned her head back to him and pulled back the tissue. It was a sticky bloody mess, and really did look like it might need suturing. The location of it wasn't good, because any kind of bandage would adhere itself to her hair. "Sara, you really may need…"

"I don't need stitches. I hate hospitals, and I'm not going."

"I think your husband is right, Miss. You may need to get that sewn up." Nanette the scarily happy flight attendant had finally managed to tear herself away from her conversation, and obviously felt it was necessary to put in her own two cents worth.

Irritated at the fuss, and the flight attendant's insinuation, Sara suddenly stood up and pulled away from Grissom. Seizing the sticky wad of tissue from the surprised entomologist, she stuck it back on her forehead, gestured for _Brad_ to get out of her way and waited while he complied.

In his haste, he practically fell into the lap of the man sitting behind him, drawing a curse from the balding and angry businessman.

Sara would have laughed if her head didn't hurt so much. Instead she moved out into the aisle, reached over, and popped the lid shut on the first aid kit. Then grasping it by the handle, she leveled the attendant with a false and excessively sweet grin. "Thank you for your help." She said through clenched teeth. Then turning to the two men she nodded at them. "I'll take care of this myself." she informed everyone, before shoving her way past the woman.

"Miss, we're almost ready for take off. Why don't you just sit down and let your husband take care of it." Nanette reached for the young CSI, who simply stepped out of her reach.

"He's not my husband." She announced forcefully, a thread of tension clearly present in her voice. "He's my supervisor and I'm going to the bathroom."

"Miss please just sit down, the seat belt sign is on. You will delay take off."

"There'll be an even longer delay if I hemorrhage to death here…" With that Sara turned and headed into the bathroom.

By the time she exited the tiny cubicle, she'd managed to clean up the blood and slap on some liquid bandage to stop any further blood flow. It wasn't pretty, but it was a damn sight better than what she'd seen when she first looked in the mirror. At this point everyone was belted into their seats, so she hastily made her way back to her own, unconsciously noting that business class was almost empty as she passed through the cabin. With the exception of her, a semi-dozing Grissom, and the pseudo _Brad _who had his nose stuck in a magazine, there was the business man he'd pancaked earlier and an Asian woman who already appeared to be sleeping on the other side of first class.

Nanette was in the midst of checking on the business man and cast a glance Sara's way as she slid into her seat and buckled up. It was a serious attempt to stave off another conversation with the excessively happy woman, who immediately turned her way.

Still annoyed, the tired brunette held up a hand and shook her head, indicating that she didn't want to talk. "I have my seat belt on…" She told the woman, a warning heavily laced through her words.

It may have been the strain in her voice brought him out of his reverie, but Sara immediately felt a warm thick hand on her arm.

"Let me see…" Grissom said softly, while the fingers of his free hand moved carefully along her hairline. Agrimace painted his face as he took in the purplish gash that decorated her forehead. "I'm really sorry." he told her, trying to discern whatever was going on in the young woman's head. As always, she was a closed book to him.

"Why are you sorry?" Confusion marred her face, and she turned away not wanting her eyes to betray the effect his touch was having on her. "You didn't do anything."

"I guess that's been the problem all along hasn't it?" His words were so casual that it took her a moment to gather their meaning. By the time she turned to look at him, he had his eyes closed again and was resting against the travel pillow.

Rolling her own dark orbs, she simply shook her head and then sunk into the thick leather chair. She was not going to let him do this to her again; it was a dance she was all too familiar with. He would extend a thread of hope. She would by into it, and end up caught in the game again. It was frustrating, infuriating, and undeniably painful. And the sad thing was – she was almost certain that he didn't even know he was doing it.

Reaching into her purse, she retrieved her Nano and popped one ear bud in before flicking it on. Nanette had begun to go over the emergency survival procedures so Sara used the music floating through one ear to block the woman out, her eyes closing against the momentary panic as the plane began to roll away from the gate.

Grissom must have felt her tense beneath his palm, because the minute she clawed at the armrest, he removed his hand from on top of her slim arm and threaded his finger through hers.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing. Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews as well...

**Chapter 5: Realization**

Sara awoke an hour into the flight with her fingers still loosely clasped between those of the enigmatic entomologist. Turning to study him a moment, she couldn't help but smirk. His tanned face had relaxed, making him look about 10 years younger, and he was snoring ever so softly. It was an unguarded moment.

_He's simply adorable_, her heart put in, while her head told her to _knock it off!_

Sighing quietly, the slim brunette carefully removed her hand from his and withdrew her laptop from its hiding place. Casting her gaze around the cabin, she noticed that _Brad_ was sleeping as well, and the businessman who looked like she should be snoozing was pounding furiously on his own keyboard.

The lecture portion of her commitment was already printed and memorized. What she was working on was a computerized version of her presentation. It was actually finished; she was just tweaking a few of the details. Having it completed by the time they touched down would mean that she could relax and enjoy herself while at the conference.

According to the schedule, there was a two hour meet and greet for early arrivals on Friday night, followed by a bar crawl through the city if you were courageous enough – and could hold your alcohol. The courage Sara was sure she could muster, but it had been a while since she had drank substantially, so she wasn't sure if she would be participating in that little foray. She had actually decided on heading out to dinner at this great little beachside restaurant that she'd eaten at the last time she was in Miami. She would ask Grissom to join her, and if he chose not to, she would go herself – she was a confident woman after all.

On Saturday night the package had said that there was a costume ball. The possibility of seeing a bunch of her peers playing dress-up seemed little weird since most of the scientists and professors she knew were pretty straight laced, but it could be fun - she told herself - as she'd slipped her costume into her suitcase. About ten months previously, she had attended a Halloween party - with Nick of all people. At the time, she had purchased a lace and leather cat suit, which had caused the courteous Texan to go slack-jawed. It was this that she'd packed for the ball. Her heart was seriously hoping that her boss would have the same reaction, while her head just kept mumbling: _stupid, stupid woman - you are looking for trouble, aren't you?_

She let out a low growl as her laptop booted up, and refused to listen to anymore of the internal debate.

The next time Sara looked up from her computer, two productive hours had passed and Nanette had reappeared pushing a little trolley. Food had arrived, and not a moment too soon. Her stomach had been making threatening noises for the last 45 minutes, since it had gone virtually ignored and thus empty for a good 10 hours.

Nanette served the Asian woman first and then circled around the cabin coming upon both Sara and pseudo _Brad, _who were seated across the aisle from each other.

Placing the trolley next to Sara, she offered her a choice of foods, and Sara picked the least innocuous choice – a veggie wrap, and then carefully tried to nudge Grissom back to consciousness.

When he didn't respond immediately, she placed a hand on his upper arm and whispered in his ear. "Wake up sleepy head… lunch is served." Still he snored on, so she chose the alternate wrap which consisted of chicken and some vegetable matter, and got him an orange juice as well. Dropping his lap table down into position, she placed the items on it and turned her attention to her own meal. She wasn't really all that hungry, but she wasn't sure when her next meal was actually going to happen, so she opened the package and took a bite, her tongue rebelling slightly at the strong taste of peppers.

Sara waited a few minutes; while Nanette negotiated with the man across the aisle, and then decided to try and wake the sleeping bugman again. "Gris… Hey… there's food for you here…" She whispered softly into his ear once more.

Grissom had been deeply involved in a fascinating dream involving an amazing red dress and the young woman in it. He jumped slightly at the lush words whispered into his ear, the warmth of her breath drawing a tremulous sigh from his lips and an unwelcome reaction from his body.

Her hair smelled like lily and verbena and it wrapped itself around his senses. It was intoxicating. He awoke aroused and looked down at his lap in horror, thankful that someone had dropped the tray into place, and surprised to find something wrapped in foil and a plastic cup of juice on it. Wiping the sleep out of his eyes with one thick fist, Grissom was grateful that the evidence of his body's betrayal was well hidden. "I'm hungry…, thank you…" He announced eagerly. "What is it?"

Sara grinned at him around a mouthful of wrap, and swallowed. "Chicken something." She shook her head. "Not great, if mine is anything to go by, but its airline food soooo…" She waved one slender hand at him, as if to finish the sentence.

"Did you get a little sleep?" He asked conversationally, as he unwrapped and dug into his own sandwich.

"Yeah… a few minutes… Mostly I worked." She pointed to the laptop now sitting in the half opened bag at her feet. "I got it finished, though." She smiled and carefully took another bite.

He nodded. "So you never told me what your article was about." He pulled the lid back on the juice that had accompanied his lunch and washed the wrap down with a mouthful.

"Mmmm…" Sara dabbed away a little of the sauce that had escaped her own food and was gathered around the edges of her mouth. Turning to him, a slow smile spread across her face. "Well Dr. Grissom, you were my inspiration." She grinned fully at him. "It's about old school versus new technology: which has a more important role in the lab and which is more relevant in today's crime scene investigations."

His eyebrows shot up, while he nodded slowly. "I bet I know which interpretation method you chose."

"Okay…" Sara flashed a gap-toothed smile at her boss and swallowed another bit of her wrap; it looked a lot like green sludge and not for the first time did she wonder what exactly was in it, since it tasted a little like spam and wallpaper paste. "So what do I get if I win the bet?"

Grissom squinted at her a moment, and then smiled. "A bet… It was just a manner of speech you know… but…" He pursed his lips. "Okay… I'll bite… I will treat you to dinner at a restaurant of your choice tonight." He smirked, his cerulean eyes sparkling.

"Great… You have a deal, and if I win I still get to choose the restaurant, but I pay for dinner instead." She reached into her laptop case for a hard copy of her article. "So Gris, which is it? Old school or high tech…?"

"High tech of course…" he said without even having to think about it. "The evidence speaks for itself. Whenever you can, you use a computer to re-enact a crime scene."

"That's so not true… It depends on the situation." Sara argued mildly, and then shook her head a cascade of dark curls bouncing animatedly around her freckled face. "You lose." She handed him the report.

Grissom dropped the mucky remnants of his lunch back on the foil wrapping it came in, slid his glasses on and decided to devour the information in her paper instead.

"Excuse me miss…" A softly nervous voice drifted across the aisle.

Sara turned to look into two intense green eyes. It was _Brad _and he had just finished sorting his menu out with Nanette and had ended up with no food but a drink instead.

"I just wanted to apologize again for um…" He pointed to the wound on her head. "I'm not normally in the habit of trying to kill beautiful women."

"Oh so if I was ugly I would have been dead by now? Mr…?" She smiled teasingly at him and waited for him to fill in his last name, while she absently wondered if his name actually was _Brad_.

"Durham… Paul Durham." He returned her smile and held out his hand to her. "And no, I'm not in the habit of killing people at all, though I do study the dead, which is why I'm talking to you right now."

"Okay…" She stared at him totally confused, while shaking his proffered hand tentatively.

Grissom had long since stopped trying to read her article, despite the fact that he was still pretending to. He was now listening with rapt attention to the conversation going on beside him.

"I know this is going to sound like a come on…"

"Okay…" Sara continued to stare at him, his strong firm handshake telling her a little about his personality. Despite appearing shy, he was confident, which was a definite plus.

"This is coming out all wrong." He sighed and held up the article he was reading. "Is this you? Sara Sidle?" He turned the magazine towards her and then held it out.

Sara's mouth dropped. Her picture was in the top left hand corner, and there - in print - was the article she had written for the journal. She flipped the cover closed and looked at it. "Where did you get this?" She inquired, staring at the newest version of the Journal.

"Well, I am on the editorial committee. I get an advanced copy." He nodded in her direction. "You should have, too, as a contributing writer."

"Ecklie…" Sara shook her head. She was oh so going to get him back. Looking at the man across the aisle, she rolled her eyes slightly. "I think it may have gotten caught up somewhere at my work."

"I see…" He nodded at her, his light eyes glinting at her appraisingly. "I had a feeling you were more than just a student…"

'Excuse me?" Sara was completely confounded, a slight twinge of fear shifting through her. Was this guy some kind of a He stated in answer to her question. "I suggested you submit the paper..." He grinned brightly, as she passed the magazine back to him.

Surprise suddenly turned to recognition, and Sara became extremely animated. "Professor D…, Professor Durham." She turned to Grissom, who was still pretending to be engrossed in the article. "This is the professor of my online course." She nudged the man beside her. "This is my supervisor."

"Hello…" The entomologist said cordially, his hand reaching across Sara, towards the other man. "I'm Dr. Gil Grissom." He rarely used formality when introducing himself, but in this setting and facing a man who had attractive and intelligent written all over him, he felt he needed all the leverage he could get.

The blonde man smiled and shook the proffered hand excitedly. "We've never met but I've read many of your articles. You are spoken very highly of at the university. We have a mutual friend as well."

Grissom pursed his lips thoughtfully, and returned the man's smile, albeit a strained one. "I know a number of your colleagues at the university." He informed him coolly, all the while wondering why the man was carrying on a conversation with him but staring unabashedly at Sara.

"Yes… I'm sure. But this is someone in my field, not a faculty member." He looked around the pretty brunette for a moment and caught Grissom's gaze, before returning to, in his opinion, the more attractive of the two views. "I'm a Forensic Anthropologist by education Dr. Grissom. Our mutual friend would be Terri Miller. She took care of this side of the country until I was hired on at the university. I was told I would be called in occasionally for consults, but I haven't yet had the pleasure." He smiled warmly at Sara. "And now that I have met at least one of your staff I can honestly say it is a pity. Are they all as attractive as Ms. Sidle here?" He winked at Sara, who was trying desperately not to laugh.

She suspected that this was a question that would definitely put a twist in his tighty-whiteys, and expected his answer to be shot though with thought and tempered with professionalism. That is why her mouth dropped slightly when he did the exact opposite.

"Well, there are many attractive women at the lab." He was tense, and she didn't have to look at him to know it. "But I have to say in my opinion, Sara is the most beautiful." She felt the warmth of his hand as it rested unobserved on her back, in such a way that it was almost possessive.

Sara did a double take, and caught a look in his eye that could only be described as hunger. She was blown speechless.

"I see." Durham smirked at the young woman in front of him. "Well then you are a very lucky man to get to work with her on a regular basis."

"You have no idea…" he replied, any trace of emotion absent in his voice. To anyone listening, he sounded almost disinterested. But someone who knew him could easily detect the anger underlying the words. "She's brilliant…"

Grissom's hand began sliding lightly up and down her back, and it was driving her to distraction. "Ah… so you know Terri Miller…" She put in, hoping that this would draw her boss back into the conversation, thus making him stop his ministrations.

"Yes. She is one of the best in the country." He winked at her in such a way as to say that he too was considered top of his field. "I am also good friends with her ex-husband."

"Oh…" Sara smiled. "I had no idea she was married, or divorced for that matter. " She turned to look at Grissom, whose hand had stopped moving, but was still resting on her back. He appeared to be reading the paper she'd given him, yet he hadn't even finished page one. "Grissom knows her considerably better than I do. I have only worked

with her once, where as I believe her and Grissom have handled several cases together."

"Yes…" The entomologist nodded and flipped the page. "We've known each other for a few years. Though the last time we talked she was still happily married."

Paul Durham snorted. "Well, I don't know about happily, but yes the divorce is recent, and I heard from a mutual friend that she managed to make his life miserable with her demands, but still tried to make the marriage work, until he knew it was a lost cause."

"Regardless, she is still and amazing and accredited forensic anthropologist." Grissom pointed out tersely, his glasses had slipped down his nose as he peered around Sara with the paper clutched tensely in his hand. He didn't particularly like Paul Durham; in fact, he very much disliked him at the moment. Though he allowed himself to believe that it was because he wasn't fond of gossip, and the people who pedaled it, deep down inside he knew that it was really caused by the professor's unprofessional interest in the woman sitting between them.

"Very true Dr. Grissom..." Durham agreed, and eyed Sara salaciously. "Miss…" He waved Nanette over.

"Well, it takes two people to make a marriage work, so when it fails it think that, generally, both are to blame." Sara smiled sadly. "That can be said for relationships, too." Her voice took on an air of resignation. "You know some people just aren't meant to be together. It doesn't make either one of them bad, just maybe bad for each other." Leaning over she zipped up the laptop bag at her feet and shoved it under the seat.

She could feel Grissom shift beside her, but she refused to look at him.

"Can I help you, sir?" The flight attendant shot the Professor her widest grin, and practically oozed on lust all over him.

Holding up his glass he waved it in her direction, but ignored Nanette completely. "Can I have another please?" he requested and then turned to Sara. "You must let me buy you a drink for all of the pain and suffering I have caused…" He offered.

Sara laughed slightly. "Drinks in business class are free Professor…" She pointed out a distinctly flirtatious tone drifting out of her mouth. "Aside from which, I have discovered that alcohol and flying don't generally mix well." Sighing inwardly, Sara leaned back into her chair but continued to maintain eye contact. The man was incredibly cute, despite the fact that he was working his way towards a hangover, and clearly laying it on thick for her benefit.

"Mmm…" He held up his glass and drained the remainder of the amber liquid, watching as a second was placed huffily in front of him. "I have been there." He told her. "But some times lessons can be a lot of fun…" He winked.

The flush that passed across Sara's face drew a knowing nod from Paul Durham.

Sara scowled slightly at his assumption, but her demeanor changed as she noted with glee that the fake smile Nanette had been sporting the whole trip had finally dissipated. She felt a momentary sadness for the woman, who was clearly put off at being ignored by the Professor, but to Sara, it was at least solid evidence that she was truly human, and not a walking, talking Barbie doll with the airline logo tattooed on her ass.

"Depends on the lesson…" Sara pointed out, trying to redirect the conversation. Yes, as a matter of fact, she had been more than a little tipsy when she and Ken Fuller had joined the mile-high club.

"You win…" Grissom whispered lushly into her ear, the feel of his warm breath on the skin of her neck stopped her lascivious reminiscences dead in their tracks. He passed her back the sheets as his voice shifted to a more conversational tone. "You were right in having her submit it, Professor; it is very informative and well written, and also accurate." He leaned around her gathering a better look at Paul Durham. "But then I would have expected nothing less from Ms. Sidle."

No matter how much she tried to fight it, the comment drew its desired effect. A small smile of accomplishment spread across the young woman's face. And she hated herself for it.

_Fool_ her head spit out.

_Leave me the fuck alone…_her heart retorted.

"Sara has always been an exceptional student, and a joy to teach." Grissom's warm hand wrapped around her slender arm just above the elbow as he nodded pleasantly at the other man; his touch was casual though its intent came off as being completely possessive.

Sara shifted uncomfortably. His face was mere inches from hers now. All she had to do was turn her head a fraction to the right and her mouth would have most definitely come in contact with some part of his facial anatomy. Soft beard, full lips, tanned cheek… An internal moan expanded in her chest, and came out as a small puff of breath.

"I knew the minute I received her first paper that she was special." Durham nodded and took a liberal gulp of his drink. "Most of my students, well, I'm sure you have experienced it, too, but most of them are emotionally immature, and have a tendency to talk out their asses thinking they can bluff their way into a decent grade based on the minimal knowledge they possess. There is a desire to learn there, but none so driven as someone who is truly passionate about the subject matter." He winked boldly at Sara, uncaring as to who was privy to it. "Ms. Sidle has that passion." He quirked an eyebrow at her, "I imagine you are quite passionate in everything you do." He directed his comment at her.

Sara rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly, but grinned in spite of herself. She'd opened her mouth to respond, but Grissom's voice broke the air.

"That she is." He didn't follow up the comment with anything describing her work ethic, which is what she had anticipated. Instead, the dead air that followed it made the remark sound distinctly personal.

Sara's eyebrows shot up, and she cast a dry glance her boss' way, her ringlets bouncing lightly in front of her eyes. She pulled them aside and tucked them behind one ear.

In response to the look of shock and anger on her face, his thumb began a slow rotation on the inside of her arm. It was a soothing touch, meant to calm and comfort her, but it had the opposite effect, sending a tendril of arousal through her. This knowledge was completely unsettling.

"Well I knew she had to be an older student simply by the timbre of her paper, so I looked up her educational background and was duly impressed. Very few women can handle the physical sciences, let alone excel at them. To another scientist that prospect is very exciting." The final word was weighted and drawn out, leaving no doubt as to its meaning. Winking, Paul Durham drained his second double scotch.

"Absolutely…" Gil Grissom agreed casually, giving the impression that he was more than comfortable with the tone of the conversation. However, the tightening of the grip on her arm told her differently. "I have always found that to be the case." He added.

Sara could feel the tension drifting between the two men, and it was playing on her own senses. There was way too much testosterone floating around the small cabin, and it was exciting, and distracting, and irritating all at once. With a small huff of indignation Sara tucked her report back into the pocket of her laptop, grabbed her lunch garbage, and locked her tray back into place. "Well since you both would rather talk about me than to me…" She stood and moved out into the aisle. "I'm going to the lavatory."

In the distance she heard her professor's final comment uttered with amusement, as she shut the cubicle door. "Yep… Dr. Grissom… very passionate indeed…"

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play._

_I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it._

_I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing. Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews as well..._

_**Chapter 6 - Restrictions**_

_After she returned from the bathroom on the plane, Professor Durham was 3 doubles deep into a scotch bottle, and Grissom had decided to curl up with his pillow again. Except for Nanette's occasional posturing, the rest of the trip was blissfully peaceful; she had carefully avoided the drunken man's stare and spent the remainder of the trip curled up with her Nano._

_Once through the gate at arrivals, Grissom hunted down their luggage while Sara babysat the Professor. To Sara, it seemed as though he had grown several extra arms during the flight, and he was having trouble keeping all of them to himself. It didn't help that the man was in such a state that he couldn't even find his own suitcases. At one point Grissom had pulled off seven or eight pieces of luggage at Durham's request only to discover that most of it belonged to an irate passenger who was quite certain that the even tempered entomologist was trying to steal it. It had taken a flip of both his and Sara's IDs to calm the man down, and that had still not helped with the string of curses and doubtful complaints the man left trailing behind him as he left baggage claim. _

_So they waited. They waited until there was nothing left on the carousel except 3 matching bags, which thankfully had the professor's name on them. After that it had been a mad faltering dash to catch the tour bus that was waiting for them, and on to the hotel. _

The card key slipped easily into the lock and Sara entered the room. Grissom had been right; the academy did everything top notch. Her room was located at the Ritz Carlton South Beach. It was a five star hotel, and the designers had skimped on none of the amenities. The room was done in a classic taste with dark rich woods, a spa dressed king size bed in nautical stripes, a desk for her to set up her laptop, and a comfortable sitting area. The room was larger than the average hotel room, and had a spectacular view of the beach and ocean. Throwing the sliding doors open she reveled in the sound of the ocean crashing against a break water and the comforting tang of the salt sea air. The place invariably smelled like home. And it was times like this that she suddenly wondered how she had allowed herself to be talked into moving out to the god-forsaken desert in the first place.

When they'd finally arrived at the hotel, Sara discovered that she was situated in the room next to Grissom, with nothing more than a thin wooden door separating the two of them. She wasn't sure why, but the academy had arranged adjoining rooms. Silently, her heart thanked the powers that be, while her head simply let out an angry moan. Nothing was ever simple.

The slim brunette wondered how her boss would take this bit of news, as it was something that he wasn't aware of just yet. When she'd last seen him he was grumpily helping an inebriated Paul Durham up to his own room, at the behest of Sara herself. After exiting the plane, she'd explained to him that being two responsible and conscientious adults they couldn't very well leave the drunken man – a man who was after all her professor and the person in charge of giving her a final mark – wandering in an alcohol induced stupor around the Miami airport. So it had boiled down to Grissom or Sara – who would be the unlucky person to see that he made it to his room?

Despite Durham's state, and the lecherous quality that seemed a part of his personality, Sara had volunteered to put the man to bed. Grissom had stared at her a long moment before stating in no uncertain terms that he would be the one tucking the professor in. Sara had shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but deep down inside she was eternally grateful that he would be the one doing the dirty work. As attractive as her teacher was, it had little or no bearing on the fact that he was a complete turd.

Flopping back on the king-size bed, she kicked off her shoes and laid supine, staring up at the ceiling for a few long minutes. She wanted to have a shower to wash away the day's stress, but her luggage was still log jammed down in the bowels of the hotel with all of the other arrivals, and she was sure it would be a while before it made reappearance in her life. She had volunteered to grab it herself, but it had gone directly from the tour bus hold to a back room where they sorted through it and organized it before bringing it up to her suite. It was marked with all her information, as she had been instructed prior to flying, and had been assured that it would reach her soon, but still she would have preferred to have it with her.

As the willowy brunette closed her eyes, a relaxed state washed over her much like the sound of the ocean outside her window. A moment later she was startled back to reality by a loud rapping. Dragging herself to her feet she wandered to the door and threw it open only to find the hallway empty. Popping her head out, she checked up and down the corridor and still found it devoid of human life. Shrugging, she closed the door and headed back to the bed as another knock echoed through the room. This time she realized her mistake and went over to the connecting door.

"Hey…" She threw it open and backed up, to allow a rumpled and stoic Grissom in. "Did you get the dear professor into bed okay?" She eyed him curiously and wandered back to where she had been laying before he'd gotten her up.

The enigmatic entomologist nodded silently, his cerulean eyes studying the woman in front of him. He wanted to tell her he thought the man was a jerk, and that despite his looks, he wasn't really all that attractive a person, but it really wasn't his place to say anything. He had no claim to her, and she was a big girl who could make her own decisions. So, instead, he settled for stating the obvious: "It appears Professor Durham has a bit of a problem."

Lying back on the bed, Sara stared at the same spot on the ceiling she'd been studying earlier. "Oh, I don't know Gris." She turned her head to look at him momentarily. "I had a friend in college, you would have thought she was Mother Teresa, no alcohol, no drugs, not even coffee, but when she got on a plane, man, she would drink herself into a coma. I kid you not. She was just a nervous flyer."

Grissom didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow, so Sara rolled onto her side, her finger lightly tracing out the stripes on the comforter. "It's possible…" She shrugged. "You're always telling me that we should wait for all of the evidence to come in before we make a decision."

"Yeah…" He watched her, enjoying the gentle curve of her body under the delicate red silk of her dress. A thread of arousal in the pit of his belly made him to redirect his thoughts before he embarrassed himself, so he forced his eyes past her and out into the blue sky beyond the balcony. "So…" He dug his toe into the carpet and kicked it, looking like an uncertain little boy. "You won the bet, where would you like to go for dinner?"

"Ahhhh…" Sara smirked. "You know you don't have to," she said, offering him a way out. She knew him well enough to know that the dinner thing, with her, in a non-work environment, would be extremely threatening to the walls he'd erected so long ago.

He grinned back at her his hands sliding into his pockets. "You won fair and square. You name the place and I will make reservations." He said thickly.

"Mmmm…" She moaned softly and stretched out again, unaware of the effect that the guttural sound had on him. "Well, there is this place I ate at last time I was in Miami…" She pulled herself up into a sitting position and leaned back on her arms. "They make great fish, and it's a fairly casual family type place. We could go there?" she suggested amicably, her dark eyes falling on his well cut form.

"Great. What time?"

"Ah… well we should attend the meet and greet." She checked her watch. It was six and the academy's function started at seven.

"Okay… We can attend for about an hour - I know from previous experience that that's probably all we would want to spend there – so I could make the reservations for 8:30…" he offered, his mind absorbing the attractive image of the woman in front of him.

"Great. It's called Snappers Pier Five. I think I know the way from here. Do you want me to look the number up?" she enquired. Drawing herself up to her feet, she headed for the phonebook beside the bed.

"No..." He waved her off, as a knock sounded on his door. "Hold on…" he meandered over and swung it open.

There was a tall slim boy no older that 16 standing there looking ridiculously small in an oversized bell hop uniform. His attempt at professionalism was thwarted by the shaggy scruff of hair, that poked out from underneath an absurd hat, and the fact that when he held out the Grissom's suitcase, he said: "Hey dude, I have luggage here for a Mr. Grissom."

The entomologist rolled his eyes and grasped the bag from the young man. Digging into his pocket he pulled out a ten, passed it to him, and then nudged him to the door.

"Thanks man, and have a good time…" The bell hop bobbed his eyebrows suggestively at the graveshift supervisor, who in turn simply looked perplexed.

His confusion eased when he turned around to find a grinning Sara standing in the middle of his room, arms folded across her chest, and looking way too sexy to be a mere scientist. A shuddering breath escaped him, as he eased his mind from the less than gentlemanly thoughts that were drifting through it, and redirected it towards more appropriate things like the weather, and the periodic table. That red dress was going to be the death of him.

She looked at him a moment, taking in the emotions playing across his face. He looked undone, and more than a little embarrassed, though she was at a loss as to why. "He only had yours, I take it?" She asked in an attempt to stave off an uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah…" He rolled the bag further into the room and placed it beside his bed.

Sara cast her eyes around the room. Noting it was the exact mirror image of her, own suite. "Isn't that always the way? It takes a woman twice as long to get ready as a man, but he gets his luggage first." She pursed her lips, before letting go with a slow smile. "I wanted to take a shower, but if I don't do it soon I won't have any time."

Grissom nodded. "Well, if you want to take a shower, you can leave the adjoining door open and I'll listen for your luggage." He offered, knowing full well that it wasn't the best of ideas. The last thing he needed to see was a wet and tousled Sara Sidle, fresh from the bathroom.

Sara shook her head. "That's not the problem…" She held her hands out at the side plaintively. "I have nothing to put on, and my towel from home is in my bag."

Grissom lifted his suitcase and plopped it on his bed with a resounding plunk. "You bring your own towel from home, Ms. Sidle…" He teased.

"Hell yes… You've seen the shit that goes on in these places. I ALS the bed, too, before I climb in." She told him quirking a curious eyebrow in his direction. "Let me guess, you would just prefer not to know…"

Gil Grissom grinned at her a moment, before popping the locks on his suitcase, and unzipping it. "Here." He pulled out a huge navy blue bath sheet and held it out to her. "

She threw him a genuine Sara smile and took the item from his hand. "You can have mine when my luggage gets here." She turned and walked from the room, closing the door over behind her. "It has pretty lilies on it…" She told him from the other side of the door.

Grissom rolled his eyes and stared after her noting the small stream of light that slipped between the door and its frame. He could see movement on the other side, but thankfully nothing specific. The fantasy of her clad in his towel was already wreaking havoc on his senses.

A few minutes later the younger CSI had stripped off her clothes and wrapped herself in his towel. "Hey…" She swung the adjoining door open fully and peered into Grissom's room.

He looked up at her from a wing chair beside the bed, his mouth dropping slightly at the vision of slender cream flesh against the dark blue of the towel. He pulled his jaw back up to where it belonged and smiled almost painfully. Unable to speak without his words tripping over his tongue, he waited silently for her to go on.

"I'm just going to take my shower now. I'll leave this open so you can listen for the bell boy, okay?"

Grissom simply nodded as she disappeared into the depths of her own room.

"Thanks…" He heard her utter the word receding as she went.

Grabbing an elastic from her purse Sara pulled her unruly mass of curls up into a ponytail, and away from her face. She wasn't sure if she would have time to dry and straighten her hair before they were expected down stairs, and letting it dry naturally would take forever.

Turning, she went to the closed door of the bathroom and pulled it open, a sudden feeling of sheer horror taking over her senses. Immediately, she did the one thing that no proud and seasoned CSI would normally do; she screamed at the top of her lungs!

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play._

_I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has other things to do with her time than devote it to my whimsy, so you are a star in my eyes._

_I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing. _

_Also there is a modicum of kink in this chapter so I am upping the rating if I haven't already. I always like my characters with a slight twist - it makes them human on so many levels. Admittedly, I had a little trouble with the Horatio and Calleigh characters. I am not that familiar with them so I had to do a little research. Just a point - this really isn't a crossover - I just wasn't thinking clearly when I placed the setting in Miami... Sorry. You will not be seeing too much of the Miami characters. Maybe one other visit. Thanks for you patience. And THANKS to my reviewers. It is always the same few who take the time to write. I love you allllllll..._

**Chapter 7 - Rumors**

It took maybe half a second for Sara Sidle slip on her CSI demeanor, become supremely embarrassed, and stop Gil Grissom from setting a foot in the room.

"Don't!" She held her hand up, and waved him off as he made to cross the threshold.

Grissom's face was pasty white; a look of terror contorted it as he hit the doorway running. He was seriously flustered and Sara could see by the tremulousness of his hands, that she'd scared him. "What the hell is the matter?" He asked seeing her unharmed, but having expected the worse. Sara, in his best estimation, would never have screamed like that unless she was being attacked.

A flash of red tinged her freckle smattered skin from the navy towel right up to the top of her head. "Dead body… Shocked the shit out of me…!" She announced somewhat breathlessly, at the same time backing away from the bathroom doorway. "You need to call Miami Dade." She threw a glance in Grissom's direction, noting the familiar look of curiousity that had rapidly replaced the horror.

"Grissom… you know better…" She told him as he made to ignore he earlier warning and enter anyway.

"But I want to see…" It was almost a whine and Sara couldn't help but smile.

"As it stands, I'm already evidence, and a suspect. You don't need this to tie you up as well. Be realistic." She shook her head in his direction. "Make the call and I'll tell you what I have here."

Grudgingly, grabbed his cell off the table near the door and made the call.

Sara ignored the conversation he was having with the local authorities as she reached into her kit, slipped on some gloves, and then returned to the bathroom doorway.

The scene before her was something out of a horror movie; the bathroom, normally a pristine white marble with an old claw tub, a stunning black granite and rich cherry wood vanity, was coated with arterial spray, the bulk of which had pooled near one leg of the tub. Sara couldn't figure out if it was a man or woman because he or she was draped face down over one end of the tub, and there was a fitted leather mask wrapped tightly around the victim's head. The dark hair that stuck out the bottom was a good indicator that the victim was female, as was the exposed feminine buttocks under the leather corset, but from her vantage point she couldn't be sure.

"What do you have?" Grissom called from the doorway.

"Uh… adult victim of unknown sex, though if I had to guess I would say that it's a woman." Sara peeked back around the corner.

"Unknown sex?"

"Uh… yeah… the vic has a leather hood and corset on, but that only comes to the waist. However, he or she is face down so I can't see, uh… the genitalia."

"Cause of death?" Grissom pressed wanting to take in everything that she observed.

The metallic scent of blood was thick in the room. "If I had to guess…? Exsanguination - from an arterial cut or puncture of some sort, there's a lot of blood here." She leaned in to get a better look. There was another smaller blood pool, around the drain area of the tub, and what appeared to be a couple of hairs, were hanging onto the rim of the drain for dear life. "Looks like there are a couple of hairs here, maybe if we're lucky they have skin tags attached."

"There's no "we're" about it Sara, back away from the door and take a seat on the bed, where you were laying before, would be best." Grissom advised her from his place between the two rooms. "You can't gather any evidence, and you've already contaminated the scene.

She tossed a glance over one of her shoulders before allowing them to sag. "Right..." She acknowledged, but instead of backing off, she reached into her kit and grabbed her camera.

"Sara…" Grissom warned.

She held her hands up. "Just photo documentation…" She told him reasonably, before wandering back to the bathroom along an already traveled path, and leaning in. She hadn't stepped into the room yet, so she remained outside the door, and snapped off a few photos, before adjusting the zoom and snapping a few more. Grinning, she then turned and wandered back to the connecting door. "Here…" She smiled sympathetically at the man there and passed him the camera. Sara knew it had to be killing him not to be a part of the scene.

A slight grin lifted one side of Gil Grissom's face, and he took the camera from the young woman. "Thanks…" He said ingratiatingly, as he flipped through the shots she'd taken. "Pretty messy…" He commented, after perusing the last of the photos.

"Look a little familiar, maybe?" Sara's eyes sparkled slightly, a flash of humor shooting through them before slipping towards a more somber emotion. The question, while a mild jab, was also serious.

Grissom's face changed slightly as he pondered her comment. "Yes… well, in my limited experience." His eyes, unable to meet hers, fell to a place that caused his mind to drift to an even less comfortable place… the exposed freckles decorating her creamy white chest. He found himself contemplating the number of them, and his head distractedly counting them.

"How long did they say they'd be?" Sara took the camera from his hand and moved back towards her kit.

"Who…?" He asked, startled by his own impropriety.

A well manicured eyebrow popped up, before she answered. "Miami Dade… It's been 10 minutes."

"Ah… yeah… They should be here any minute."

The slender brunette nodded slightly. Somewhere in the bathroom the air changed and a slight whirring sounded. "Damn…" She muttered, and made a mad dash for her kit. Grabbing the camera once again, she also tugged out a couple of plastic bindles and a set of tweezers, before completely entering the bathroom this time.

"Sara!" Grissom yelled, as door to her room opened and three people walked in, accompanied by two uniformed officers who stopped at the entrance to the room.

"The air went on. There is evidence on the edge of the drain. It may go down." she informed him, snapping a few photos, and then collecting the hairs.

Grissom stared at the older of the two men who had wandered casually into the scene, before casting a quick glance at the slim blonde trailing behind him.

"She… well… she's thorough…" Grissom smiled slightly at the tall redheaded man, and indicated the bathroom by way of an explanation.

Sporting a shadow of a tan and dressed in a dark suit, Horatio Caine cut an impressive silhouette against the lightness of the room. Nodding tightly at the Las Vegas supervisor, he turned to look at the young woman bent over the bathtub. "Well Gil, I have to say I have seen a lot of things in my life, but this is the first time I've ever seen anyone process a crime scene in a towel."

Sara grinned shyly the dark ringlets that had escaped her ponytail were dancing, as she turned to face the three people outside the bathroom door. "Well you're lucky I did." She held up two individual bindles, containing two hairs, and the forceps used to collect them. "Otherwise these babies would have been gone."

Carefully, she examined the man who had addressed her. He was clearly the senior CSI present, as he wore the cloak of authority with ease. His face was somber though Sara suspected that it could sport a smile as easily as it could a hold a frown. He was staring at her with an indefinable look on his face, and aside from the lightness of his earlier comment Sara really wasn't sure whether he would reprimand her or applaud her. One thing was for sure though, he was well acquainted with Grissom, and it was her boss that the redhead addressed next. "Is she yours, Gil?"

Grissom pursed his lips unsure of how to answer that question and survive the wrath of Sara if he said yes. Leaning heavily on the door frame, he nodded. "If you mean, is she my CSI? Then the answer is yes, but other than that she is very much her own person." the older man admitted painfully. The other people in the room didn't catch the subtle nuance of the Bugman's admission, but it wasn't lost on Horatio Caine.

"I see…" Caine nodded carefully, his eyes following Grissom's to only other man in the room.

Eric Delko was dark and distinctly attractive in his white polo shirt and dark jeans. He was clearly of Latino decent, and Grissom had pegged him as Cuban from the outset. It may have sounded stereotypical, but it was also likely - as Cubans made up a large percentage of the population in southern Florida. After all, this particular state was the pathway to freedom from a dictator's regime. However, it wasn't the man's heritage that had grabbed and held the supervisor's attention; it was the fact that he was staring at Sara with something akin to a seductive leer, which left no doubt as to whether he was enjoying the view - and it was this that was pissing Grissom off, at the present.

Very much able to read the older man's thoughts, Caine turned to the CSI at his side and prodded him. "Eric, I want you to go down stairs and interview the housekeeping staff. I want to know who was responsible for cleaning this room, and when. I also want to know what she saw - if anything - and I would like you to get her finger prints and shoe prints, as well as a DNA sample. Clear?"

"Sure, H." Eric nodded at his boss and then finally acknowledged Grissom's scowl before high-tailing it from the room.

"Calleigh, you know what to do." He nodded in the blonde's direction, as she reached out and took the bindles from Sara.

Popping open her kit the former ballistics expert retrieved another bindle and held it out so the slim brunette could place the forceps in it. Finally, she grasped a manila envelope and held it out as the other woman removed her gloves and added them to the mounting evidence. It was then she finally introduced herself. "I'm Calleigh Duquesne, CSI Miami." She held out her hand, as Sara took it and shook it firmly.

"Sara Sidle… Las Vegas." Sara tossed a toothy grin at the long haired blonde, and indicated the scene behind her. "Messy. Evidence points to a female vic, but I can't be sure."

"Must have been a damn shock when you opened the door…" Calleigh nodded at the blood soaked walls, and the puddle amassed on the floor.

"Mmmm… yeah… I mean yes." Sara colored slightly, but refrained from telling the other CSIs that she had screamed like a laymen.

"Was the door closed when you entered the room Ms. Sidle?" It was Horatio's calm voice that offered the question.

"Yes. I had been here for a few minutes. I was waiting for my luggage to be brought up so I could shower. I gave up and decided to have one, anyway. There's a meet and greet…" She cast a glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "In about thirty minutes. I wanted to be ready for it."

"Where did you get the towel then?" Caine asked nonchalantly.

"Grissom… It's from his home." She shook her head slightly, and shrugged. "I'm not terribly fond of hotel linens, even if this is the Ritz. I mean just look how well they cleaned the bathroom…"

Horatio couldn't help but smirk at this, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Touché Ms. Sidle."

"We agreed to swap when my bag arrived - that way I could get started and we wouldn't be late." She crossed her arms across her chest defensively. The man's intense blue eyed stare was unnerving her, a feat that wasn't easily accomplished.

"And the clothes…" He turned and indicated the dress and various undergarments placed carefully on the bed.

Sara sighed; it would probably be a while before she saw her little red dress again. Damn… She nodded sullenly and let out a tempered, "Yeah… they're mine."

Calleigh nodded sympathetically and withdrew a large brown bag from her case. "Sorry…" She muttered on her way past. "We'll try to get them back to you before you leave town." The blonde woman told the brunette at the same time scooping up Sara's very expensive black lace La Perla bra and panties, and the dress beside them.

Grissom blanched a little at the sight of the undergarments, and then turned away immediately, his focus instantly going to the red haired man still standing at the foot of the bathroom doorway. The last thing he needed was the vision of Sara clad in a skimpy black thong… God save him… and a matching bra… Hell… lodged in his brain for infinite. He removed his glasses and swiped at them trying to distract himself from the less than wholesome thoughts that seemed determined to cloud his mind.

"Horatio?" He cast a pained look at the other man.

The Miami supervisor turned a speculative eye in his direction and before Grissom even had the chance to ask him, he passed his counterpart a pair of paper booties. "Why don't you join us, Dr. Grissom?"

Sara stared at him over her shoulder as he slipped the booties on, and grinned at his look of triumph.

"What's that over there in the corner?" Calleigh had returned from labeling the bag and was now looking at a bloodied collection of metal circles piled on the floor in the corner along with a small padlock with an extra long loop. "It looks like a bunch of earrings." Her southern lilt bounced off of the white tile of the room making it sound hollow.

"Uh… yeah… I saw those… and took a photo of them." Sara was off to the side of the doorway, but still had a clear vantage point on the items in question. "I think they are for the practice of infibulation, or what laymen would call chastity piercings. At least, that's what they look like to me, and the small lock fits, too." All three people looked at Sara like she'd grown an extra set of arms, so she continued. "They use them to prevent the woman – or the man from engaging is sex with someone other than their partner. It can be part of a BDSM relationship. It normally indicates commitment to one person."

Momentarily thrown, Caine's mouth dropped open and his eyes flitted from Sara to Grissom and back again. He could tell by the look on the older man's face that he was equally as surprised. "You sound rather knowledgeable on the subject Ms. Sidle, would that be something you acquired professionally or privately?" Normally such a question would not have even exited his mouth, but considering the state of the body and the fact there clearly was a tie to that particular type of sexual practice, he felt he needed to clarify. While he didn't truly consider the thin brunette to be a suspect, the fact that she appeared to be educated in the practices of the very same paraphilia that the victim seemed to be a part of, did actually support the theory that she could be a guilty party.

Another telling crimson flush decorated Sara's skin highlighting the smattering of freckles there. "A little of both, actually..." She admitted reluctantly. "I used to work in San Francisco so we definitely saw some interesting stuff there. San Fran is home to the Society of Janus. It's the second oldest club of its type in the states. But I also knew people in college who were into it. One friend in particular, a boyfriend at the time, would invite me along occasionally just to see if I was interested and he offered to mentor me, so… I would go… for a while." She bobbed her head side to side. "It kind of freaked me out so I put a stop to it once it became more involved."

Horatio seemed to absorb this for a moment, and did his best not to allow any prejudices cloud his judgment. "Okay… Well if these are chastity piercings, would that not be indicative of a woman?" Caine asked. He had seen more than his share of kink in his time, but this was fairly new to him. "I mean the there have to be close to twenty of them there…"

"That's true." Sara nodded unable to bring herself to look directly at Grissom, but well aware of him behind her. She could feel the heat from his gaze practically burning a hole in the back of her head, and the warmth from his body, mere inches away, easily seeped through space between them and excited her flesh. "But men can have chastity piercings, too. Though not normally as many and over there…" She pointed to an opposing corner where a clear plastic and oddly shaped item was laying discarded – a small lock still attached. "That's a…" Her color heightened. "well… Hindu men used to use them to enforce celibacy. They're called an _arbandh_, or in modern terms a male chastity restraint or… um a cock cage. Some of them have spikes on the inside. They are designed to produce a certain level of discomfort. It puts the S&M in the BDSM." She forced herself to look at both Grissom and Horatio, enjoying the flinch that her words had brought with them. Over Caine's shoulder she caught Calleigh's tight smirk. "That's sort of what makes it so weird, and the sex of the victim suspect."

"I don't understand." It was a sentiment that Horatio Caine was not familiar with, and he wasn't happy about it.

"Well normally, only one of the couple would wear the restraint. Not both." She turned to Grissom, her eyes slightly averted from his. "Do you have anything to add?" She asked, hoping to avert some of the attention from herself. "Did you ever run into anything like this at the _Dominion_?"

He didn't even flinch. Though internally Gil Grissom was still trying to process all of the information she was sharing and ignore the growing heat in his belly. He held his hands up and shook his head. "No… You're doing a great job on your own." he smirked.

Horatio's eyes moved between the two people in front of him, well aware that there was something else going on, but unsure as to what.

"Great…" She murmured and turned back to the other two CSIs. "There is not much else to say."

"The Dominion?" Caine tossed out, the tone of his voice leaving little doubt as to the state of his patience.

Sara looked over her shoulder, at Grissom's solemn face. When he wasn't forthcoming with an answer, she filled in the blanks. "A few times over the years our team has been called out to work on different cases at a place called the _Dominion_. It's the local fetishist hangout in Vegas. Grissom is friends with the owner, Lady Heather."

"Ahhhh…" Horatio's head was beginning to ache. "Okay. So that still leaves either of you to explain why the two chastity restraints are unusual." He looked first from Sara to Grissom. "You have nothing to add?" He asked the older man.

The renowned entomologist shook his head. "During the times that I had dealings with Lady Heather, I never encountered anything like this. I have seen a variety of costumes similar to the one your victim is wearing, but beyond that…" He shrugged.

Absently, Sara couldn't help but wonder if his exposure to the outfits had something to do with him having worn a few of them. That thought sent a slight chill up her spine, so she shucked the thought aside.

"Can you explain, then?" The investigator turned his sites on the tall pretty brunette.

"Yeah, um… well normally this kind of thing entails a master and a slave, or dominant and submissive. The two different devices would indicate both a male and female submissive."

"So you are saying that there was a third party here?" Calleigh clarified.

"Likely." Sara offered. "And he or she is probably the dominant."

"That could make jealousy a motive…" Caine stated.

"Oh yeah…" Sara confirmed her hands instinctively going to her upper arms in an attempted to rub away the goosebumps that were forming on her skin.

"Okay then…" He turned to Calleigh. "We need to fully process Ms. Sidle, here." He told her.

Calleigh nodded her ponytail bouncing. "Sure thing." she grabbed her case.

"A few more questions first though." He looked at Sara again. "How long were you in the room before you discovered the body?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes…" She looked to Grissom and he nodded.

This lead Horatio to the next question. "Were you alone the entire time?"

"No…" Sara tucked her hands under her arms. "I was alone for maybe 5 minutes. Then Grissom knocked."

"I see…" Not for the first time the red haired supervisor wondered if the two people in front of him were involved. If so that would make them both suspects. "And before that can you account for your whereabouts?"

"Yeah… We disembarked the plane and drove here on the bus. We were in the lobby for about ten minutes. Grissom left to take a colleague to his room, and then came to his. From the time we parted company in the elevator it was five minutes. Now I may be a CSI, but there is no way I could kill someone, clean up and replace my clothes in 5 minutes. I think to be thorough I would need at least an hour." Sara told the man straight faced, all the while a glimmer of humor was set in her light chocolate eyes.

Calleigh grinned at this, while Horatio simply nodded. "This is merely a formality. But I do need to ask, as you well know."

A heavy sigh escaped her pursed lips. "I do."

"Okay, well we'll need the towel, a DNA sample, fingernail scrapings, and I would like you brush her out as well Calleigh." He told the woman beside him.

"That's fine by me, but you're not getting the towel until I get some clothes." Sara told him pointedly.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimers:** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play._

_I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has other things to do with her time than devote it to my whimsy, so you are a star in my eyes._

_I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing. _

_This is a short chapter, but worry not I am almost completed the next... And THANKS to my reviewers. It is always the same few who take the time to write. I love you allllllll..._

**Chapter 8 - Remedy**

There was a chill in the air. Miami, though a tropical spot at the best of times, was on the shore and quite cool at night despite the heat of the day. Once through with the interrogation and humiliation of being combed out, photographed naked, and fully processed to a standard at which Sara herself would have used, she'd finally managed to pull on some clothes and ended up simply grateful that she hadn't needed to go to headquarters for a further round of questioning. Regardless, Horatio Caine had sternly informed her that it could happen at a later date and time.

After she managed to slip into a light pair of jean capris, a black tank, and a set of ballet flats, she exited Grissom's bathroom to a sullen entomologist and a flurry of activity in her own room. Apparently, the coroner had arrived and they had determined that the body was in fact female. It took a moment for Sara to come to terms with the fact that another woman had died a violent death and despite the fact that her head had known that it was serious matter from the outset, her heart finally caught up with reality and she allowed herself to mourn for a woman whose face she had never even seen.

The coroner, a beautiful black woman by the name of Alexx Woods, had concurred with Sara's COD, stating that there was a puncture wound into the left carotid artery from which it appeared the victim had bled out. Anything else would be determined back at the morgue. The time of death, approximately six hours earlier, had cleared brunette of any wrong doing, but her exclusion from the suspect list had done little to help the truly difficult situation that had presented itself… She was effectively homeless. Her room was a crime scene and the hotel was literally packed to the rafters. There was no space available at the inn. This fact had led Sara and Grissom to where they stood now; just inside the front door of Snappers Pier Five - both of them silently contemplating the fact that there was a very good chance that they were going to be roommates for the balance of the convention. All of the whining, cajoling and threats had resulted in little more than a conciliatory smile from the young woman behind the check-in counter, and a promise that Ms. Sidle would have first dibs on any room that became available.

After several moments of silence and Grissom staring at anything but the woman he was standing with, Sara turned and haughtily made to leave the restaurant. "God… You know we've known each other for well over six years, we were even lovers once," she muttered as she stalked past him. She understood his ambivalence - she really did, but Jesus, it wasn't like she was responsible for the whole situation, yet there he was, mentally blaming her. "You would think we were strangers…" She shook her head and slipped her jean jacket on against the cool night air.

There was a gaggle of people waiting to be seated, and the last thing she had wanted to do was stand there amidst the lovers, happy families, and riotous friends, with a man who had for all intents and purposes ignored her since they'd left the hotel. She really had tried to converse with him, lightly at first, asking him questions about Miami and Horatio Caine, but had given up after having to draw even the most basic of one word answers out of him. Dinner would be unpleasant and it had been his idea.

In the end, they had forgone the meet and greet and opted for food since both were starving. However, reservations had been all but forgotten in the fray.

"Sara…" Grissom called after her as she made her way down the semi-crowded sidewalk.

She disregarded him, much as he had been doing to her for the last hour and continued to walk; her destination: anywhere but standing at his side like some lost puppy. _I told you so…_ her head chided, while her heart just hurt. She'd fallen for it again. God how could she be so stupid? Gil Grissom was definitely her Achilles heel, best be wearing steel soled shoes when she was around him from now on.

The young CSI was so lost in thought that she didn't even realize that he'd caught up to her until she felt a thick fist wrap around her upper arm. "What?" She practically yelled at him.

"I'm sorry…" He said by way of explanation.

"Right…" Sara tugged her arm free, and just kept walking. "That seems to be the case with you all the time, Gris, one minute you are normal and friendly, and the next I am a leper or something. I can't deal with it anymore." She stopped and turned, causing him to bump into her. "No, that's not right…" She changed her words to reflect her more bull by the horns attitude, as her hand quickly moved to push him away from her. "I won't deal with it. Whatever you have going on in your head, I am not privy to it. You know that, yet you toy with me like I'm just some unfeeling plaything." She turned to continue making her way down the sidewalk.

"Sara…" He grabbed her again, but immediately let go when she turned and cast her eyes in his direction. She was wide open; the turmoil of her emotions was floating so close to the surface that he could easily read the pain in her eyes. Whatever lame excuse he was going to make died on his lips and for once he allowed instinct to take over. "Come on…" His one large hand reached out and engulfed the younger woman's smaller one. He gave a tug and hoped that she would relent and follow.

"Gris, I don't want to go back…" she informed him as he led her towards the restaurant they'd just exited, her head all the while instructing her to pull away and leave him standing there, while her heart directed her feet to follow him; a soft moan escaped her chest. She stopped and waited until she had his attention. "The place is packed. It will be hours before we get a seat and something to eat."

"I know, but I have an idea." he told her, leading the way back through the thick wooden doors and into the dimly lit entranceway.

If it was at all possible the place was even busier than it had been before their hasty retreat. Despite the crowd, Grissom made his way through to the podium and nudged a twenty into the hand of the teenager manning the reception and seating area. "I don't want a seat." He told the younger man before he could protest. "I want a menu, and to place an order for take out."

The bucktooth, acne faced youngster yanked a menu from their place piled high behind him, and passed it to Grissom.

"Gris…" Her voice though tempered with anger, was also softer than it had been a few moments earlier.

"Look. We're both hungry… Choose something, we'll take it out and eat it on the beach. We need to talk and the beach is the perfect place. Its quiet and we won't be interrupted. Okay?" He held out the menu and then slipped behind her, as she reluctantly opened it.

Sara could feel the heat of his body pressed up against her back as he stared over her shoulder.

"What's good here?" His rich voice sent a tendril of lust drifting though her as he whispered in her ear.

"The grilled Chilean sea bass…" The slim brunette replied nonchalantly, doing her best to disguise the effect his proximity was having on her. Stepping away from him, she turned and held out the long slim booklet. She hadn't really perused the menu, but remembered the choice from her previous visit and needed to get away, so sea bass it was.

"Okay… two then..." Grissom made his way back to the young man in the Hawaiian shirt and returned the menu to him; Sara watched from a distance. Grissom had changed into more casual attire, a pair of fitted jeans and a thick black cable knit sweater with a white starched shirt underneath. He looked simply edible and Sara Sidle had found herself needing to turn away for a moment to get her emotional bearings sorted out. The whole trip was a really bad idea, the pity of it was she'd realized this far too late to do anything about it.

Unable to help herself she turned back and watched as the man of her dreams placed another twenty in the hands of the young man and placed their order. For a moment she considered leaving while his back was to her. She could make good her escape, go soak herself in a few drinks, and forget the stress and pain of the day, but he was too quick for her. A second later he was back at her side, a warm palm planted on her forearm and breath tickling her ear above the din. "Five minutes."

"In your dreams…" Sara tossed out the challenge. "We'll be waiting at least twenty." She crossed her arms against her chest and found herself smiling maniacally at an extremely attractive business man and his friends who appeared to be waiting for seating as well. It was meant as a distraction from Grissom, his antics, and the tension that had infused the air between them, but it was far too effective, and within a moment the gorgeous doe eyed dude was making his way over to her.

_Shit, now you've done it Sidle. _

Grissom was still in the middle of forming something coherent and witty to say when Sara turned abruptly.

"Gonna go to the lady's room." She told him and beat a hasty retreat to a door across the room before the businessman had made it two feet.

The minute Sara disappeared, the young man the entomologist had bribed for the food returned from the kitchen with a full plastic bag, and waved him over. "Here's everything you asked for, sir." He said; a slight brace induced lisp coloring his words.

"Terrific…" Grissom passed him his credit card and gratefully accepted the bag. A moment later the slip was signed, his pocket was yet another twenty lighter, and he had his prize. Now all he needed was a certain beautiful brunette.

He had been shocked to discover the depth of her knowledge with regards to the BDSM lifestyle. Her revelations had left him both a little off kilter and more than a slightly intrigued. It had distracted him to the point where he'd caused her to believe that he was ignoring her, when in reality he was just trying to come to terms with her disclosure and what that meant to him on a more intimate level…like the image of a leather-clad Sara to traipsing through his already cluttered and covetous dreams. How could he explain to her that her admission, despite the somewhat sordidness of it, fed his fantasies and scared the shit out of him in equal parts?

They were more alike than he cared to admit. Acknowledging this would mean acceptance, and with acceptance would come an even more overwhelming desire.

_Jesus he was messed up_.

He had once told her the story of thermite and she had acknowledged that there were just some people who weren't meant to be together. Grissom felt it was the opposite with them. They were meant to be together, but he was terrified that if, or when, they did commit to each other, their relationship's intensity would swallow him whole, leaving him with one burning question: how would he survive if he gave her everything and she walked away?

"I'm back…" Her voice was soft and she hung behind him a moment until it became clear that the businessmen had already been seated.

Triumphantly Grissom held up their dinner and waved the bag slightly. "The waiter said there is a small path along to the left of the building that will bring us down to the beach…"

Sara grinned slightly. "So how much did this end up costing you in the end?"

"Bribery does not come cheap, my fare CSI…" The normally reticent scientist threw caution into the wind and winked at the young woman as he led the way to the door.

The look she cast at him said it all… _You are a silly, silly man Gilbert Grissom_… but she simply laughed; the difficulty of the last few hours conveniently forgotten by her heart, as she padded out onto the walkway behind him, her head uttering a _tsk, tsk, tsk…_

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

**_Disclaimers:_** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has other things to do with her time than devote it to my whimsy, so you are a star in my eyes.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

This is another short chapter... but I am plugging away at it promise. And THANKS again to my reviewers. It is always the same few who take the time to write. I love you allllllll...

**Chapter 9 – Reckoning **

Though Miami wasn't generally a quiet place, the spot they'd chosen on the beach was fairly secluded and virtually abandoned except for the occasional squawk of a ruffled seagull, or the rare pair of lovers strolling by. Above them and a short distance to the left they could hear soft dinner music wafting from the belly of the crowded restaurant.

It was all very romantic, and alternately depressing, Sara decided.

Being on a beach was normally inspiring, since the water had always called to her on an elemental level. But sitting there with Grissom had, so far, been less than exciting, since aside from the odd comment about the food and offer of wine, he'd really not said much. She was grateful that he had at least thought to request wine. It was most certainly taking the edge off of an uncomfortable situation.

In fact by the time she had downed the last of her fish, and the second glass of wine, she was feeling more than a little courageous.

He'd been staring at her whenever he though she was looking away, so she waited and faked him out, the minute he turned she swiveled her head towards him and let out an exasperated, "WHAT?"

His eyes grew wide for a moment, before he smirked and speared a green been from the Styrofoam tray in his lap.

When she thought he wasn't going to answer her, she continued to eye him, and asked again, this time a little less hostile… "No seriously, what? Do I have fish stuck between my teeth? Or green beans? Or what?"

Grissom grinned again and then licked his lips. That is when Sara knew she was in trouble. Licking of the lips, running of the hand over the mouth, and removing the eyeglasses all had similar meanings in Grissom speak… They essentially meant that he was mulling something over and it was something that he was unsure of. If he was unsure of it, then it had to be personal, and personal was bad in Sara's books. Her mind warned her that maybe she should back pedal and talk about the weather. Her heart didn't listen and instead simply fluttered when he actually started to speak.

"I was just trying to shake the image of you clad in leather and wearing a dog collar actually…"

There it was…

Definitely should have known better than to ask, the slim brunette chided herself, as she choked heavily on a bean that had wedged itself in her throat. It took her a moment of coughing madly, one or two concerned taps on her back from her dinner companion, and in the end a large gulp of her third glass of wine before she'd gathered her composure and was able to speak. Mind you, what came out wasn't the most eloquent string of words she'd ever uttered… In fact she only managed one, and it was beginning to sound a little redundant even to _her_ ears. "What?"

Grissom imagining her in a leather bustier and collar was, to say the least, disconcerting.

No… she corrected herself.

It was scary.

_Scary in a good way, her heart put in. _

_No, scary in a bad and dangerous way, her brain reiterated. You've grown, remember?_

"Did it have spikes?" Grissom continued.

Sara's mouth dropped, and all she could do was gape at him. It took her a moment before she noticed his shit-eating grin.

He was teasing her.

Well turnabout _is_ fair play… she reminded herself before reaching out her hand.

Now it was Grissom's turn, "What?"

"Your garbage," she motioned to the container on his lap. "I'm taking mine," she indicated a nearby garbage can that was lodged, slightly off kilter, in the sand.

He passed her the refuse, a glimmer in his eyes. "Or was it diamond studded?" he mused.

She'd wandered two steps before she stopped and turned. "Though leather is a necessary part of the wardrobe, I was more heavily into lace…black – the spandex kind and I never wore a collar… My partner did. I got to play with the whip…" She winked and finished her trip to the trash bin. Shaking slightly at her bravado and trying desperately to swallow back the embarrassment her revelation had caused her, she grinned. Behind her she could hear her boss, friend and mentor sputter slightly. He _so_ had it coming.

Replacing the grin with a nervous smile, she turned and made her way back, her feet reveling in the coolness of the soft sand beneath her bare toes. "I miss the ocean…" She looked at the man sitting on the ridge of grass, his own feet buried in the sand.

"I do too, sometimes." He dug his toes into the pale crystals. "I mean, I grew up in Marina Del Ray, water was everywhere. I spent a lot of time on the beach as a kid. It was peaceful."

Sara nodded knowingly. "It has a way of making you feel so small."

"I like the majesty of it. It forever reminds me that we are all part of a never ending cycle."

She grinned. "Ever the scientist, Dr. Grissom."

He laughed, and the looked at her a moment, studying her delicate features. "Lace, huh?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Yes…"

"Mmmm."

The noise sounded almost hungry to Sara's ears and, for the gazillionth time since she'd met him, she wondered about the curious puzzle that was Gilbert Grissom. Sometimes, he could be so normal; a typical man who had the same motivation as any other man. Sex – she'd caught him numerous times staring at hers and Catherine's butt. Drink – she knew he kept a bottle of something hard in the bottom drawer of his desk, and had a penchant for screwdrivers – a fact that Catherine had let slip. And then there sensation of the cheap thrill – his rollercoaster obsession; it was a well know predilection around the lab. He'd even told her about it once, though the only kind of rollercoaster ride he'd ever taken her on was one of an emotional nature – not unlike other men. This was the Grissom she could understand. But most of the time he just confounded her with his self denial, fear of relationships, and the fact that he seemed to be emotionally very young. Then to make it all more confusing, the emotionally ambivalent little boy would say something to her about dog collars and leather… a statement that smacked of sexuality, lewd thoughts, and intimacy.

Sara's head hurt. "You know." She turned and tried to catch his eye. "I wasn't really _into _it." She waited to see his reaction, and was faced with the exact countenance she'd expected… a stoic Grissom. "It is just that the offer was there, and it kind of intrigued me on a baser level. And frankly, once I get a taste of something like that I devour it on an intellectual and academic level."

The bearded entomologist nodded in understanding, and then picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the frothing surf. "Been there," he admitted, and gently smiled at her. "I'm not judging you, Sara, because honestly you and I are more alike that either of us cares to admit." Another rock flew. "I was just mulling it over."

She now she had no idea what any of that was meant to say to her. "Mulling?"

"Yes," he looked at her almost shyly. "A period of deep thought…" he said by way of definition.

"I know what it means. I was just hoping we could…you know…forget it now." She stared at him hopefully, the cool wind rolling in from the water making her hair fly about, and causing a slight shiver to track its way through her.

"Mmmmm." He shook his head almost mournfully and stood up. ""Not possible… Ms. Sidle…" His warm hand reached out and grasped hers. With one quick tug he had her on her feet and was headed back towards the restaurant. Midway he leaned in and whispered softly in her ear. "It's a picture that is not likely to leave my brain anytime in the near future…"

The press of his words on the sensitive skin of her neck, combined with meaning laced into them, ignited a fire in her belly. She actually wanted to jump him, pin him to the ground and have her way with him. She turned away from the comment and tried to focus on the soft lights spilling out of the restaurant.

_God dammit! He has done this to you before…You are not going to take anything he says seriously, her head warned her. _

_Shut up already, her heart acknowledged. I can handle it._

There was one small fact that she knew she was forgetting, and it popped back into her head the minute they wandered back into the crowded hotel amidst a light banter.

_Shit…_ _Both her heart and head shouted_.

Sexual tension was a definite drawback when you actually had to share a bed with the man who was the cause of it.

Maybe they could get a roll away…

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimers:**_ I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has other things to do with her time than devote it to my whimsy, so you are a star in my eyes.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

This is another short chapter... But I have smut on my brain for the other story I am working on... I a.m off to write... More and more and more... Thanks for all of your generous reviews

**Chapter 10 – Remediation**

It actually said in the blurb about the hotel room, '_roll-always available'_. That was a lie… There were roll-aways in existence in the hotel; it was just that they weren't actually _available_. At this point Sara hated the Ritz and all of the government agencies who though it appropriate to cram four bodies into a two bed hotel room, since it was with out a doubt those people who were in possession of the items in question…

The bottom line, of course, was that she and Grissom were stuck sharing a bed. One bed - albeit a king-sized bed - but that didn't make matters any better, since Sara suspected that it could very well have been the size of the entire upper floor, and still would not have been large enough for her reluctant roommate.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she stared into the bathroom mirror. Grissom had taken it all in stride, stating that it would be okay… but she knew better. His demeanor had changed yet again and he had flipped from funny, playful entomologist, into solemn bugman in a matter of seconds.

Their relationship was just way too complicated, and it was about to be made even more so by the fact that Sara slept in the nude. Wearing pajamas was a concession she was eagerly willing to make in order to make an already strained situation less so, but unfortunately she hadn't actually packed any. The closest she could come was a fairly tight tank and a pair of soft fleece shorts, which actually lived up to their name, since they were truly very _short. _

Things did not bode well, she decided, as she finished up brushing her teeth and pulled her cyclonic curls up into a ponytail. "Well, best be getting on with it…" she mumbled and opened the door to the bathroom.

Delaying the inevitable would only result in one thing; her falling asleep on the restroom floor - something which, at this point, just might be preferable to what she had facing her.

"Hey…" Her heart danced at the sight of a pajama-clad Grissom sitting in one of the regal wing chairs. He was going over his notes for his lecture scheduled at noon the next day and tossed a cursory glance her way before resuming his reading. It was a slight epiphany for the young CSI, a personal look at how he must appear in unguarded moments at home. Crossing the room Sara stood by the foot of the bed for a moment. "If it's okay with you – I'm going to…uh…" She indicated the bed.

"Yeah, go ahead." He said cordially enough. But the fact that he refused to look at her relayed a message that was lout and clear, _he wasn't so easy about the whole situation._

"Do you have a side you prefer?"

That did draw his attention. "Huh?" He tossed a glance her way his eyes immediately falling to her feet the minute he absorbed what it was she had on. _How was it possible to look so sexy in shorts and a tank? _This thought consumed all others momentarily andit took him a moment to realize that she was still talking to him.

"A side…" She indicated the bed. "Is there one side you favor for sleeping on? Or do you just crash in the middle or something."

"As you reminded me earlier, we have slept together before. You don't remember?"

Playful Grissom was clearly back. All this switching was making her head spin.

Sara fixed him with a cool stare, hoping at the same time that he couldn't see the rapid beating of her heart through her thin cotton tank.

In all the time they'd known each other since that fateful night, he had never once uttered a word about it. Men had died for less, yet it had gone unacknowledged by mutual agreement since the morning after the night before, when he'd deemed it all a mistake.

She pursed her lips slightly and then licked some moisture back into them, before deciding against scratching his eyes out, which was her first instinct. Instead, she chose in favor of tossing the emotional grenade he'd just lobbed right back into his lap. Her voice dropped dramatically and it took on the usual husky tone that she knew had moved lesser men to an orgasm. "What I remember from that night, aside from the circumstance, was that for the most part we didn't do much actual sleeping, so it's a moot point." She smiled slightly, simply daring him to continue the present line of conversation.

Grissom's own heart jumped at her words as he swallowed heavily. What was he thinking? The answer was simple… He wasn't… at least clearly not with the right head. True to his usual self, his subconscious backed fearfully away. "Right…" He intoned softly, his interest immediately returning to the folder in his hands, his mind trying to shake the image of her slightly exposed belly, and the colorfully jeweled dragonfly hanging from it.

Sara's eyebrows rose up her forehead, and she waited. When he wasn't forthcoming with anything else, she placed her hands on her hips. "I'm sorry?"

He looked up from his file, dark blue eyes gazing somewhere between the headboard and the picture to the right of her head - anything to prevent himself from indulging in the long, lean, sensual vision she presented. "The right side… I usually sleep on the right side…" He reiterated, and then turned his attention back to his presentation.

Sara rolled her eyes, and smoothed down the bedding on the left hand side. "Well..." she said, sliding between the cool silken sheets. "Goodnight…" Rolling over, Sara drifted almost immediately into an exhausted and numbing sleep.

It had to be around 2 am when Sara awoke to a fully lit room and a wicked thunderstorm outside the sliders. Startled awake by a loud rumble, she sat up instantly only to find a sleeping Grissom hunched over in the same chair she'd last seen him in. His notes were scattered about on the floor, and soft snores were emanating from his chest. After the evening he had put her through she seriously contemplated leaving him there, but the odd angle his head hung at was almost painful to look at. He would be hurting in the morning.

An exhausted sigh escaped her and she climbed out bed.

_Sucker, her head screamed_, while her heart simply beat a little faster.

The first thing she did was collect his notes off the floor and try to place them in some semblance of an order. She wasn't terribly successful since her brain was still a little addled from the few hours of sleep she'd had, so she dropped them on the small table beside the chair, and then turned back to _sleeping grumpy_.

Stifling a laugh, the skinny brunette shook her head minutely. Grissom's glasses sat absurdly twisted on the bridge of his nose and he looked like every bit the geek he was. He didn't even stir when she removed them and his watch, and moved over to set both items on the bedside table. It was a testament to how tired he must have been.

Stripping down the linens, Sara turned and studied him a moment. In sleep he looked considerably younger than his fifty years. This was the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago in San Francisco. Too bad he didn't feel the same… Her heart clenched agonizingly in acceptance of this fact.

"Gris…" She called softly and shook him.

His only response was a groggy mumble.

"Gris…" She shook a little harder and was rewarded with two sleepy blue eyes staring blankly up at her. "Come on." She slipped her arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. "Bedtime for you bossman," she told him, at the same time leading him carefully to the bed.

He weighed heavily on her and dropped instantly onto the firm mattress once they'd reached it. Prone to habit, his body instinctively curled over onto its left side, and he buried his head the soft yielding pillow, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

The young CSI had a difficult lecture to give first thing in the morning. Aside from being terribly nervous, Sara Sidle was in dire need of all the sleep she could get, so she followed suit. One flick of the light switch cast the room into almost complete darkness, and a minute later she was back in bed, the thick comforter pulled up around both of them.

She was careful to keep her distance, and managed it quite well until a loud clap of lightening shocked the ground almost directly outside their window. Not that she was scared or anything, but she immediately felt the masculine form of one Gil Grissom pressed warmly up against her back, one of his thick arms immediately wrapping itself around her waist.

And this was how she fell asleep; contented, comforted, and safe. A final thought tracked dangerously through her head as she drifted between twilight and REM sleep. Grissom had no choice but to stay this time. After all it was his room…

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimers:**_ I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has other things to do with her time than devote it to my whimsy, so you are a star in my eyes.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

Sorry this took so long - there will be more to come in the next few days. Thank you for your patience.

PS - the Where's Waldo usage was slightly borrowed.

**Chapter 11 - Reckoning**

Startled awake by something that was unknown to her, Sara found herself embroiled in yet another internal struggle of sorts: her head, always the rational factor in the equation, ordered her to _get up immediately, dammit, and move far far away _from the man who at present was clutching her to possessively to his side, while her heart told her to _stay for Christ's sake,_ _this was the thing so many of her dreams had been made up of over the preceding 6 years_.

God, this the whole multiple personality thing was truly getting old.

Her eyes still tightly closed against the reality of impending morning, the young brunette shuffled all thoughts aside and took a moment to revel in the warmth and comfort of Grissom's arms around her. While the sensation wasn't as new to her as many would have thought, it was one that she had tried time and time again to put out of her mind. This had been especially true as of late. They had shared one night together in San Francisco during what had seemed a lifetime ago, and she'd allowed it to color her world from that day on… forcing her to build dreams on what now seemed like false promises. She hadn't been lying to him that day a few months ago when she told him that she'd come from San Francisco to be with him. And he knew it, as certainly as he knew that she would stay for him, too, when he'd asked her on that fateful day after the Holly Gribbs' case.

The night that had precipitated the long journey they'd since found themselves on hadn't been born out of recklessness: it was something that they had both wanted at the time, or so she thought.

A long forged friendship, tempered with a mutual attraction, had followed the two of them from the time she'd been a freshman at Harvard and he a young professor in high standing – touring and doing lectures. Over the years they'd run into each other at two different universities, and at a variety of seminars and faculty gatherings, to which she had always been invited through one professor or another. They'd happened upon each other through the work she'd done for the professors she'd assisted, and through private dinner parties at the homes of people who'd become mutual friends. Then when she started at the coroner's office in the city by the bay, and further still into her career as a criminalist in the very same city, they'd occasionally meet in a professional capacity.

Eventually, beyond laughing at the fact that they both seemed to be on some inexplicable path that fate had laid down for each of them, they had made an active effort to see each other when the other was in town or nearby. They had done dinner, walked, talked, laughed, and even gotten drunk together - once. Making love had seemed a natural progression at the time, but it had been a terrifying moment of realization for Grissom. Plagued with self doubt and worry over their age difference, what should have been easy and loving was tempered with regret.

Despite this, Sara knew what he had been unable to acknowledge since - they were good together. Not just on a sexual level, but as a whole. Fear had brought him to the place where he was now, and Sara had given up the fight not too long ago because she'd had a painful epiphany while eating alone one night at a Chinese restaurant – living his life the way he was, was very much what Gilbert Grissom wanted. And fear, however irrational it may seem to the person watching, was very real to the person experiencing it.

A soft breath escaped her, as she contemplated what her next move should be. Getting up was actually it, but that didn't help the fact that her traitorous heart seemed to have won, and her body had been lulled into such a state that it really didn't want to move.

If Sara had to guess, it was the crook of Grissom's arm where her head was presently resting. Part of it was the faint odor of Speed stick or some other guy deodorant that still clung to his T-shirt; the other part was the fact that the very same deodorant had waned overnight and, to be honest, the man had a bit of a tang to him.

Sara sniffed shallowly, and confirmed what she had already figured. Yep… the body part pressed up against her nose and mouth was definitely a pit… or at least very close to one. UGH…

Well lull or not the girl was going to move… albeit slightly.

That's when the brightness beyond her eyelids caused a start.

Shit! Her presentation…

Sara was immediately awake her eyes searching for the bedside clock. It had last been spotted perched atop Grissom's bedside table, and that is where she found it – uselessly flashing 12:00… 12:00… 12:00…

Her eyes, immediately shifted to the heavens outside the window. It was dark and dull and gave little indication of the time. However, the presence of the swollen gray clouds weighing down the Miami sky was a warning that storm which that had knocked out the power through the night, had still not fully passed.

Shit again… She was signed to do an underwater seminar after her presentation. It was related to evidence collection and had sounded interesting.

What she did next really took no thought at all, though in retrospect it should have required the utmost examination. Rising into a sitting position Sara literally flopped across her bed partner, trying to grab the watch she'd placed on the table the night before.

This was a huge mistake.

Two blue eyes immediately popped open a look of utter surprise on his face. "Sara." was all he managed to utter before a soft groan escaped his mouth. In her haste to launch herself at the item - just out of reach - she ground her boney hip into something that was pliable, but considerably harder than its natural state.

Grissom gasped, and gripped her by her waist in an attempt to stop her from moving any further, but she would have none of it. Still reaching over him, she pushed off the bed again, as he moaned her name a second time. This time though he gripped her using one strong arm and rolled the two of them over until she was under him. Then he grabbed her wrists and pinned them over he head. His full weight was resting unrelentingly on her lithe body.

It was a "Where's Waldo" moment for Sara: a discovery of a sort, or yet another one of those epiphanies that she'd had lately, where she realized that Waldo, or whatever strange name he might have for his male appendage, was presently making its presence know by pressing boldly into the soft flesh of her belly.

A shuddering breath escaped him and he stared darkly at her, something that looked strangely like passion flitted through his almost blue black eyes. "Don't play games with me, Sara."

This wasn't playful Grissom, or stern bugman. There was no trepidation in this man's voice, only a severely spoken warning from someone who appeared to be holding onto a very tenuous collection of tightly reigned emotions. Sara hadn't met this side of her friend, mentor and boss, but he scared her as much as he aroused her. "No games Gris…" She said soberly, her palm unfurling to show him her prize.

His watch dangled from it accusingly. "The power went out. I had a panic attack about my presentation."

He let out a soft breath and loosened his grip on her wrists; his forehead falling to rest on hers. He was going to tell her he was sorry, but their proximity had caused him to drop all rational thought and instead he claimed her mouth with his.

The physical response in Sara was automatic. She accepted his mouth willingly, savoring the taste of him on her lips, her heart hammering in time with his.

His hands entwined the hair at the sides of her face, his palms holding her head in place as his lips took full advantage of the softly yielding pout pressed beneath them. A second later he stopped and closed his eyes against image of a very aroused Sara Sidle splayed against a backdrop of rumpled white sheets. A bold fury forced its way through him and he huffed loudly and drew himself up off the bed.

Amidst the swarm of emotions crowding her head, Sara stared after him, unsure of what was going on, but easily sensing his anger. The problem was she wasn't sure who it was directed at, her or himself. "Grissom?" There was a question wrapped within his name, but that was all that would pass over her tongue.

He stopped, his hand was on the door of the bathroom and he tugged it open.

"Just…" A thick sigh escaped with a huff, reminding her that she had almost forgotten to breath. "I don't… What is this?"

He simply shook his head, but refused to look at her. "I guess we both need a cold shower now…" His words sounded cool to both their ears and it laid the blame squarely on Sara's shoulders.

Did he think that she had been teasing him? Was this his revenge? Sara simply gaped at him a look of pain and confusion painted her face.

The hurt in her eyes said it all. Whatever he'd been thinking was way off …

He looked at her sullenly for a second before mumbling a tight "Sorry..." in her direction before disappearing into the bathroom, the door slamming heavily behind him.

"Me too, Grissom!" She yelled after him. In an anguish induced rage, the slim brunette grabbed the first thing she could find and threw it at the door. It was ineffectual, the pillow bounced against with a slight thud, and landed harmlessly on the floor.

A bundle of nerves took up residence in Sara's stomach, and she jumped out of bed fighting away the tears that were threatening to spill. In the back of her mind a mantra of sorts was already running like a horrific reminder of just exactly what she had tried to put behind her. _Stupid, stupid, stupid… I told you this would happen…_Her head was already doing its best to capitalize on the situation, while her heart remained achingly silent.

It took her no more that two minutes to rummage through her bag and come up with her running clothes and five minutes later she was already making her way through the lobby.

_TBC_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimers:**_ I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has other things to do with her time than devote it to my whimsy, so you are a star in my eyes.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

Thank you all for your kind reviews.

**Chapter 12 – Resuscitation **

Grissom was long gone by the time Sara returned to the room. Not a bad thing, she rationalized, since she needed to shower, get dressed, and focus. Her seminar was an hour off and then almost immediately after that there was presentation on blood spatter, followed by Grissom's lecture. She wasn't sure she would be in attendance at the bug presentation, considering the fact that presenter was on her black list for the time being. Why add insult to injury when it was clear that the man didn't want her around?

The run had helped; it managed to deaden the pain and convert the leftovers into something more manageable: anger. In fact, she was still so pissed off when she returned to the hotel that she severely harassed the desk clerk, hoping that the less than complacent attitude she fostered would get her something that her reluctant acceptance the day before hadn't: a room of her own. It didn't help – the clerk, who was used to dealing with all manner of unpleasantness, simply smiled and shook her head _no_ to every one of the CSI's requests.

Fresh from the shower, she slipped into a knee length black tank dress and topped it off with a matching fitted jacket. A light application of makeup and a finger comb through her hair, and she was ready to face her peers.

There were a slew of people lined up outside the doors to Meeting Room 3. Initially it made her nervous, but she was used to lecturing in front of full classes at the university. _This should be a piece of cake,_ she told herself as she grabbed her notes, shoved them in her briefcase, and exited the room.

The lecture went well. Approximately 125 people attended and some of the questions she faced at the end, aside from the adjunct coffee and dinner date requests, were well thought out and intelligent. It was a pleasure for her to be around people who shared her interest in the science and treated her as an equal, or better yet, managed to stimulate her curiosity in her chosen field. In fact, some of the discussion queries provided her with a secondary topic for a different article. All in all, she felt it was a success. Academia had always excited her, but if she had to compare her work to a life of study, the job would still win hands down. It was the excitement and unexpectedness of it that drew her.

Once she'd threaded her way through the people wanting to talk to her personally, she checked her watch and discovered that there was only ten minutes left for her to get to the blood spatter presentation she'd signed up for. Dropping her notes back into her folder, she shoved it into her small briefcase and made her way to the back of the room, her eyes falling on a waiting Gil Grissom.

He was sitting in the back row looking deceptively handsome in a pair of dark dress pants, a matching polo shirt, and a jacket that could only be described as professor-like with its light checked pattern and elbow patches. He had been there since the start of her seminar, after quietly slipping in with the rest of the crowd. He never once uttered a question as many had, but he'd given her his undivided attention for the entire time she talked. It had been disconcerting a first, but she found that ignoring him helped to ease her stage fright; by the end of her talk, she had almost entirely forgotten that he was there. That is, until she was faced with the prospect of having to talk to him.

She diverted her eyes and groaned slightly as she made her way towards him...

"Very informative, Miss Sidle…" Grissom smirked hesitantly as he wrapped a tentative fist around Sara's forearm, drawing her to a stop in front of him.

She couldn't help - it her body tensed noticeably under his touch.

It stung God dammit… His earlier behavior really had hurt.

It wasn't so much the physical promise of something that would never come to fruition, but rather the fact that he had all but accused her of deliberately being a tease when, in her mind, all she had ever done was be honest with him, even if it meant leaving her own delicate heart readily exposed.

"Thanks," she mumbled half heartedly, her vision drifting to the thick mahogany doors of the meeting room and beyond them into the regally adorned lobby. A short war ensued between heart and head, and as usual heart won handily.

_You are sooo pathetic,_ she told herself as she finally brought her dark eyes to meet his apologetic light ones. "I'm going to the blood spatter seminar next," she told him, and made to leave.

"Sara… wait." His fingers tensed on her sleeve.

"What?" she asked, her head already shaking off whatever it was he was going to say.

"I know I owe you an apology…"

He seemed almost penitent, his clear blue eyes looked incredibly sad and Sara willed her heart not to respond.

She was mad at him, dammit!

Instead, the slim brunette simply shook her head: "Never mind."

"No… I've had enough of this. We…" He licked his lips, his free hand running a tense path through his hair. "We need to talk."

At this Sara's mouth dropped, "No…" She shook her head again. "No we don't."

"Sara…" He intoned, sounding terribly reasonable.

"Grissom, we never talk. Really…Actually, I should rephrase that." She inhaled deeply, fighting off the urge to hit him, or shake him, or do something violent to him. "_You_ never talk. You say things, but all you ever do is leave me more confused that I was before you said anything. This is why I stopped…I…" She held her hand up, her briefcase dangling beneath it. "Look, this is accomplishing nothing. Never mind, okay…?"

"Why you stopped what?" The look on his face told her that he knew he had struck pay dirt.

She didn't want to hurt him.

_Too bad the sentiment isn't mutual_, her head offered

_You are not helping matters, _her heart retorted

She closed her eyes against her own inner struggle. As painful as it might be for both of them, he needed to know where her head was at, Sara reasoned. Maybe, just maybe, it would end the emotional fall-out they were creating with the endless tug of war they were perpetrating upon each other.

There was a pregnant silence standing between them while Sara formed the words in her head. "This is why I stopped waiting…" Her voice was soft and wavered slightly under the weight of the words. "Why I stopped waiting for you." She clarified.

The injured look in his eyes told her that her words had done no small amount of damage, and he nodded softly.

Sara smiled sadly, the admission causing her a hitch of pain. It was the first time she'd actually verbalized her decision. It sounded harsh and hopeless to even to her ears.

"Is there someone else?" He asked her quietly.

Her head shook instantly, her chocolate ringlets dancing around her face. "No…" She wasn't sure why it was so important that he know this, but she needed him to understand that she had made the decision based on something more important than an infatuation with some other guy. "I've been on a few dates, had some fun…but no. There's no one special."

He nodded quietly, and then pulled her off to the side of the doors, allowing them some privacy from the prying eyes of the people gathering in the lobby.

Sara followed reluctantly, certain that whatever was going on in his brain would just cause another round of personal torment for the both of them. She looked at him shaking her head minutely. "You know…" She was going to tell him that everything was okay. She had come to the realization that he was happy living a solitary existence, and she had accepted it. What she wanted from him now was a friendship - the kind they had before everything became so convoluted. It seemed an intelligent and mature ending to the freakishly messy dance they'd been performing over the last several years. But, absolutely none of the dialogue actually made it out of her mouth before she found herself pressed up against the thick wood paneling of the meeting room, Gil Grissom's sensual lips molded to hers, his mouth slightly open and his tongue gently exploring.

He was a solid man, and the slim brunette found herself unable to move with the bulk of his weight pressed against her. It was a moot point anyway, as her legs were being terribly uncooperative and refused to do the very thing she rationalized she should - which was run far, far away.

A moment later all rational thought slipped from her mind. Forget explanations. Forget pain. Forget breathing. The only thing that flitted through her garbled brain was the fact that for the second time in less than 12 hours her boss…her friend…her former lover…was assaulting her mouth with his, and it felt far too good.

All too quickly it ended; as he broke contact for a moment, giving them both enough time to draw a much needed breath.

_This was it_, she figured. He would revert to freaked-out Grissom and hightail it back to Vegas, or something equally as crazy. But he surprised her again.

Threading his fingers through her hair, he ran his thumbs along her jaw, his eyes never leaving hers. It looked for a moment like he was going to say something, but he'd clearly changed his mind, since a second later he was tasting her again - this time more hungrily and deeply than the last.

A small moan escaped him as their tongues danced. Dropping the briefcase she still held clutched in one hand, Sara placed her hands on his chest. Beneath the thin material she could feel his heart beating just as wildly as hers was.

A loud laugh somewhere just outside the door drew them back to reality; getting down and dirty with the bossman in a conference room was not something she wanted to be remembered for.

"We should…" He pulled away and kissed her lightly on the forehead and then the tip of her nose. "We should…"

"Stop…" Sara filled in the blank, allowing a final kiss before they both reluctantly broke apart.

"Yeah…" He licked his lips, and then smiled. "I'm sorry about this morning, really." He stepped away grudgingly. "I felt stupid, like a twelve year old with no self control."

The tall brunette rolled her dark eyes at him, a slight smile coming to her face. "In my limited experience Dr. Grissom…" She leaned in and dropped her voice so as not to be overheard. "It is very normal for a man to wake up with a hard on."

A self-conscious smirk formed on his mouth before he leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I know, but not usually one big enough to require manual relief." He told her, more than a little embarrassed at the admission.

Sara wasn't sure if it was his words of the feel of his warm breath on her neck that caused the flash of heat to flux through her. "Oh…" Was all she managed before he placed a hand onto the small of her back.

Bending over he picked up her discarded briefcase and passed it to her. "We really do need to talk. Tonight, after the ball, okay?" He stopped and waited for her approval.

Sara simply nodded, her head trying to make sense of this latest step in the stilted dance they were performing. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_… The silent litany skipped across the surface of her mind. _You are far too forgiving._ _He is so going to do it to you again…_

He smiled. "I understand we have a date with some blood spatter…" He moved her towards the door and out into the foyer.

"Yeah, yours if you're toying with me again, Gris," Sara intoned evilly, as they headed to the next seminar.

"Scared of you…" He whispered.

"Damn straight…" She replied as she made her way to the door. "I'm a trained CSI. I know how to dispose of your body."

He simply chuckled as they slipped quietly into the lecture.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Disclaimers:_** I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has been going through some heavy exams and is traveling so I appreciate it all the more.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

Thank you all for your kind reviews.

**Chapter 13: Rotundas **

Blood spatter was boring. Listening to someone talking about it for two hours – even with a nasty demo or two – was phenomenally boring. At least that is what Sara had concluded as Grissom nudged her for the third time during the lecture.

It appeared that she had completely zoned out, yet again. There really wasn't much new in the line of blood spatter: location, trajectory, and speed, pretty much determined when, why and how the blood got there. The newer techniques included a few updated instruments for measuring and calibrating the flying red stuff, but for the most part there really wasn't a lot of new material in this particular area of their chosen field, hence the day-dreamy state that she'd found herself in after 15 minutes of the extended lecture. Well that, and the fact that she could still feel a tingle from Grissom's earlier ministrations upon her own welcoming lips.

God, the man could kiss!

God, the man would be the death of her…

God, she really would kill him if he messed with her again.

It was a Dr. Redmond who was the keynote speaker, and originally this was why she had signed up for the seminar. He really was progressive in his chosen field, and quite informative, at least that is what the pamphlet had said.

It lied.

What it hadn't mentioned was that Dr. Redmond looked a lot like Alfred Hitchcock crammed into an overly tight, though extremely large suit; worse, he spoke at the same speed as the former storyteller…

Which was: vvvveeeerrrrryyyy ssssssllllllooooowwwwwllllllyyyyyy…

Sara found herself counting down the minutes until the hell that she had essentially perpetrated upon herself was finally over.

Grissom didn't seem to mind, his focus was intensely trained on its target for the entire time, so much so that the slender brunette was beginning to wonder if the man actually mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open. However, the occasional blink killed that thought, but the young CSI was certain that she'd heard snoring from various other locations in the meeting room.

When Dr. Redmond finally did wrap up his lecture, Sara's entire body sighed with relief.

As the usual press of newly ordained criminalists rushed the podium, she couldn't help but lean in and ask. "Is it me or could that man put a Tasmanian devil to sleep?"

Grissom grinned and nodded. It wasn't until after they had cleared the room that Sara discovered his secret. He was actually going over his own lecture in his head the whole time.

Sara laughed as she moved up to the line beside one of the coffee stations that had been set up inside the grand double lobby while Grissom wandered off in search of something for the two of them to eat.

Ten minutes later he reappeared at her side, just as she was finally reaching for the coffee canteen. I seemed that everyone had the same idea she did, and she surmised that most of the caffeine imbibers were probably people she'd shared the room with from the preceding lecture. If she could she would have just added cream and sugar to the carafe and left with it.

"I got you a veggie wrap." He whispered in her ear and then made a beeline across the lobby and disappeared around a huge rounded wooden dividing wall.

Sara's dark eyes followed the man until he disappeared, her mind shooing away the ripple of pleasure brought by the sensation of his breath on her neck. Despite his words, and despite his recent attention – she was heeding her mind's worrisome warning. She would not be caught reading too much into his present behavior: it would probably lead to greater pain later. This would be an _actions speak louder_ than words situation. If Grissom really meant what he said, _he_ would be the one making all the moves from this point on, and the only way to prove himself would be by taking action.

Stirring the ingredients into the two mugs, she turned and made to follow after him, just he emerged from behind the wall and waved her over. Gripping the steaming cups, Sara inhaled the full bitter scent of the coffee and made her way over to the two chairs he'd scrounged, finally taking a good look at the foyer through eyes not colored by the fury or the exhaustion she'd been experiencing since she first arrived.

The Ritz-Carlton was brilliantly decorated with modern lines, cream and dark wood side chairs, colorful carpets and splashes of much the same blue that adorned many of the rooms. There was no wonder it was a 5+ star hotel - it was impeccable, right down to its décor. If only it had an extra room or, for that matter, one of the well advertised but missing rollaways, she would probably be thoroughly enjoying herself.

She had to admit, though: the place was most definitely packed. All of the seats were taken, and there was a throng of people wandering through the lush lobby, and lined up in front of each of the ten meeting rooms. Some of them were simply gathered here and there discussing a prior lecture, and some of them waiting for next symposium to begin. One in particular had a steadily growing crowd. Examining the sign near the doorway Sara squinted. "The Venetian Room…" She said before chomping into her lunch.

Grissom followed her gaze and smirked. He chewed his mouthful of roast beef something and swallowed quickly. "Yeah…" Was all he said as he wrapped his mouth around another bite, and leaned over the plate in front of him so none of the lettuce falling from it landed on his pants or the small decorative table in front of him.

"Isn't that where your lecture is?" Her eyebrows drew together for a moment, as a piece of meat fell out of his sandwich and dropped onto his plate with a quiet slap. A second later she took another huge bite of her own sandwich.

"Mmmmm…." His mouth was full so he simply nodded, and dropped the remaining gunk from his wrap on top of the earlier fall-out, and then mopped the edges of his mouth with a paper napkin.

"Look at me." Sara ordered after she'd chewed and swallowed. As he complied her hand moved to his chin, where she swiped at a little droplet of mayonnaise that was clinging to his beard. In two bites she'd finished half of her wrap, and was decidedly full. "Can't give a lecture with food on your face…what would the newbies think?" she told him, tucking the napkin she'd used in with the remaining wrap and rolling it all up to be tossed.

"Truthfully there may not be many of them standing by the end of it anyway." He winked and threw a glance at his wrist. "Time to go…Are you planning on attending?"

A little concerned with regards to his newbie comment, she eyed him speculatively for a moment before nodding somewhat hesitantly.

"Do you want to assist me?" He offered, as they moved across the lobby, weaving in and out of the crowd.

She squinted at him. "Sure, but aren't you just giving a lecture?"

Grissom threw a Cheshire cat grin at her and then grabbed her by the wrist as he moved through the group bottlenecking his destination, and up in front of the doors where security guard – a man whose name tag said he was Jimmy - was blocking it. "It's a lecture with a hands-on component." He whispered into her ear as he flashed his name tag at the man.

A burst of heat rumbled through her, as his lips grazed the soft skin of her neck. She wasn't sure if he had done it on purpose or if it was a simple miscalculation on his behalf, but whatever it was, it felt damn good.

"Hands on?"

Jimmy moved aside and pulled the door open for the twosome, at the same time immediately slapping one chunky hand over his nose and mouth. "JEEESUS…!" He mumbled, swallowing back the bile, and the mile high double meat sub he'd hoed down on just before his shift.

Sara gasped and mimicked the man outside the door. "God Gris, tell me you didn't."

"Okay…" He smiled. The smell not seeming to bother him one bit. "I won't."

As they entered the room he grinned at the horror on his young protégée's face.

It was one of the largest rooms in the hotel but it was devoid of furniture. Normally an elegant place of business, it had been transformed into something out of a macabre house of horrors. The floors and walls had been draped in plastic, and scattered about the room were ten or so coffin sized boxes each covered at the present with more plastic.

"Please tell me this is not what it looks like…" Sara perused the room wide-eyed.

"Sara, the best way to learn to collect and study the process is hands on. You know that…" He smiled proudly.

"How in Heaven's name did you get the Ritz to agree to this?"

"Easy. The Association books here every year. It's a big money maker for the hotel. I talked to the Association. They persuaded the hotel." He smirked, walked over to the light switch and dialed the dimmer to high, immersing the room in light.

"Wow." Was all she could manage around the smell of decomp. "And the bodies…?"

"University body farm…" He pointed to the first one. "They are all in varying stages of decomposition, each with their own special collection of bugs." The bugman was almost gleeful in his enthusiasm.

Sara simply shook her head, and swallowed down the wrap that was now sitting in her throat.

"Wouldn't that disrupt the entire ecological process?" She asked, watching him carefully as he moved over to two racks crammed with jumpsuits. "I mean haven't you essentially destroyed their body farm now?"

"Nope…" He replied examining the tags on the suits before settling on two. "The farm set aside a special area for me, and I had the bodies sent in on a monthly basis; one a month for a little over a year." He grinned devilishly her and passed her a suit with a pair of booties and a cap. "This should help with the smell and your clothes and hair and such."

Her eyebrows drew together. She was wearing a dress. "Right…" Taking the hanger from his hands, Sara shucked off her jacket and turned away. "But what about the smell in here?"

"Oh…" Grissom turned away momentarily and removed his own jacket before cocking his head over his shoulder to look at the slim brunette. Sara was in the middle of wrestling with the jumpsuit, and he heard a small curse slip from her lips as she pulled the suit up over her legs. The trouble she was having was clearly caused by the fact that the dress, though attractive, was tight – and in order for her to pull the jumpsuit on, she actually had to roll the skirt up. She was just finishing up as he turned his bright blue eyes, errantly catching a flash of lacy maroon underwear. He held back a small internal groan. "I ordered a special system from the university. It filters the air, keeps it moving and cuts down on the smell."

Turning to look at the man behind her, Sara wobbled slightly as she tugged on the second of her booties and then slipped the cap over her head. "It doesn't seem to be working all that well." She pointed out rather dryly, at the same time wrinkling her nose at the foul stench.

"Yeah…" Grissom agreed, tugging the zipper up on his jumpsuit, and slipping on his own booties and cap. He visually searched the room for a second before a light of recognition flashed across his face. Moving quickly over to a large generator near one of the last bodies, he bent over and flicked it on. "Someone forgot to turn it on." He announced rather dispassionately, his hands indicating the collection of bodies. "They've only been here an hour or so. The air should clear soon." With that he grabbed a wireless mike and its box, and moved towards the door to welcome the incoming audience.

There had been 200 people present at the beginning of the lecture.

Within five minutes of the attendees having entered the room that number had been almost cut in half. The smell alone had, as predicted, chased away a lot of the newbies, and a fair number of established criminalists who generally did that lab work portion of the job.

Within ten minutes another 25 or so had left after the plastic wrap had been removed and they had the opportunity to see exactly what it was they would be dealing with. The excuses ran the spectrum from – Jesus if we get a body this bad I'd just call you, anyway, Dr. Grissom – to – Oh God! I gotta barf!

Sara had found it all quite amusing. Not that her stomach was any less disturbed than anyone else present, but having worked with the renowned bugman for as long as she had, she'd built up a bit more of a resistance to the infestation of creepy crawlers than some of the others had. Also, working in the Nevada desert, particularly in the summer months, she imagined that she had a little more exposure to the putrefaction brought on by the typical 100 degree heat. Essentially, the hotter it was the faster they rotted…

It was a grim fact, but very true.

By the time the lecture had started in earnest everyone left was dressed in their own attractive jumpsuit et all, and Grissom, who had hooked himself up to the mike, was wandering about the room talking the hard core criminalists through the procedure of collecting samples. Every once in a while he would stop and peek over someone's shoulder, clearly enthralled by a certain bug that was present, or excited over a particularly attractive specimen.

Those who were there when he had one of his entomological epiphanies simply looked at him like he should be committed and then continued on doing the collections and asking questions.

Sara was doing the same thing as Grissom was, but with much less enthusiasm for the insect colonies at work. She handled a lot of the more simple questions herself, but always deferred to Grissom when there was something that she was certain she didn't know.

It had taken her a while to realize that it was one specific group, the six of whom were gleefully busy nattering over each of the corpses as they rotated threw them, that kept making the really difficult queries.

A moment later she realized why when one of the men, an extremely small mousy haired man with horn rimmed glasses, sporting a fully buttoned orange and blue plaid shirt and a horrifically clashing green and gray argyle vest, jumped excitedly and started shouting and pointing to a particularly fat and luscious _Trogidae_. One of the first it seemed – to arrive on this specific body.

Sara rolled her eyes.

This was a table full of newbie Grissom's.

They were clearly entomology students.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the entomological God himself moved over and eyed the specimen in question, a flurry of Latin clouding the air around the seven of them.

Sara went from amused to irritated when she heard one of the bug geeks asking Grissom about the hot babe he had assisting him. The dead silence that settled over the table told her that he was as annoyed as well. But whatever his reply, it was completely lost on her because he said it in Latin, much to her consternation, and clearly to the dismay of the other six men standing around him.

The slim brunette gave them all a wide berth from that point on, deferring them to Grissom anytime one of them raised their hand or started waving.

By the end of the lecture, everyone knew how to do a collection that would keep until a certified entomologist arrived, probably wouldn't be eating for at least the day, and smelled like the several rotting corpses.

The bossman considered it a successful lecture.

Sara considered it a unique experience and wondered how the hell the hotel would manage to get the smell out before the ball that night.

As the final group wandered out the geek squad extraordinaire cornered Grissom and started bouncing enthusiastic insect related questions off him.

Over one of their shoulders she could see Grissom pleading for help with his eyes. Sara massaged her forehead and considered leaving him there as a minor token of revenge for everything that had transpired between the two of them earlier, but she did have the heart.

"Gris…" She waved him over and held her cell phone out to him, "a Horatio Cane for you…"

Grinning Grissom pushed past his fans apologetically and took the phone from her hands. Immediately, his free hand took up residency in the small of her back and he steered her towards the door, all the while chatting into the disconnected phone.

"Thank you," he whispered, after they were out of visual range, and passed her back her phone.

"Anytime…" She grinned. "Just tell me you weren't like those six when you were in college."

"Nah…" He smirked. "I could match my clothes a little better."

Sara looked at him and nodded. "Right…" She eyed him speculatively, her eyes falling on his lovely plaid jacket. "Somehow I doubt that…"

Grissom had opened his mouth to reply but didn't get the opportunity to say a word. A banshee wail broke through the hubbub of the packed lobby and one second later there was a rather short buxom blonde throwing herself into the arms of Sara Sidle.

"Oh my God!" She proclaimed a thick Texan accent twisting here every word. When she pulled away there were two fushia tinted lipstick marks staining Sara's freckled face. "Sara Sidle as I live and breath!"

Grissom stared at the woman musing about how much she looked like Dolly Parton, and whether or not she actually purchased her clothing in Dollywood, or just scrounged around country and western stores searching for the _right_ cowgirl accessories.

"Sammy…" The tall brunette smiled painfully. "How are you?"

_What are you?_ was actually what she was thinking but she decided that asking such a question would be exceptionally cruel, though not unwarranted.

Samantha Kendrick had always been a small woman with larger than average assets and hair, but things had changed and not necessarily for the better. It seemed that over the last six years her assets had grown enormously, and Sara was certain that it had more to do with a plastic surgeon than any possible late life growth spurt.

"I'm great. We were wondering if you were going to be here, and then we saw your name on this morning's lecture sheet." She smacked around a large wad of fruity flavored gum, and gripped Sara's arm with a small hand ending in five bright red talons. "Greely, and Phil are here, too, along with a new girl named Carrie. We just got in a couple of hours ago." She topped for a moment and turned and sniffed. "God girl what is that perfume yer wearing? It smells like something died."

"Ah…yeah…" She indicated Grissom. "Fall out from his lecture."

"Oh…" She threw an interested glance Grissom's way and smiled.

"So Greely and Phil are here? That's terrific." And she really did mean it. The two men Kendrick mentioned had been good friends of hers back in San Fran. "Are you staying at the hotel?"

"Are you kidding?" She rolled her eyes as her smacking increased. "Please hon; this is the San Francisco Crime Lab we're talkin' bout here. We've been put up at the Best Western down the street, and we're damn grateful for that. If Wolinsky had his way we'd be camping out under one of the piers."

Sara laughed in earnest at that. She knew the man far too well and he was as cheap as they came.

As if some strange revelation had dawned on her, the blonde suddenly turned to Grissom and held out one clawed hand. "I'm Sammy Kendrick CSI level 1, SFPD, and you are?"

"Uh..." Grissom backed away slightly, and reached out a tentative hand. This parody of woman truly did scare him. "Gil Grissom."

"Oh, the buggy dude." She smiled her painted lips resembling a clown's. "You're cute." She winked. "You know we were going to come into the lecture, but we saw a bunch of people lurching out of there." She sniffed him slightly and turned her nose up.

"Live demo…" Grissom muttered, willing the woman to let go of his hand.

"Like lots of bugs?" She clarified.

"Like lots of dead bodies with bugs." Sara confirmed, trying to draw the woman's attention back to herself. Grissom was clearly uncomfortable with her interest. In fact the look in his eyes actually resembled fear.

"Ohhhh, grosssss," she drawled, and slipped an arm through the bugman's, and gripped it tightly to her balloon like bosom. "How do y'all do it?" She gaze up at him eyes wide with expectation.

"Do what?" Gil Grissom asked, trying as gently as possible to extract himself from her grip.

"You know, deal with all those really disgusting bodies…"

"You're a CSI, haven't you ever had to do it?" He looked at her surprised.

"Level one, Hun…" She had a death grip on him now. "I used to work in trace. Went to night school. Just got promoted to newbie a month ago. They still don't send me out in the field all that much."

"Ah…" Was all he managed, still staring at the red claws embedded in his sleeve and at the same time wondering if perhaps maybe he could get out of there by just sliding out of his jacket.

"You have to come for a drink with us." She grinned up Grissom, and grabbed Sara by the wrist.

"Oh…" Sara began apologetically, as the Sammy started dragging them both towards the lounge. "Uh… I have an underwater seminar to go to." She dropped her eyes her watch.

"Cancelled, hun." She nodded towards the lobby windows. "The wind is really kicking up out there. We thought were going to get blown all the way to Orlando, walking here." Slightly put off by the smell, Sam let go of Sara's arm and reached into her bag.

It took a moment for both of them to register what Dolly was doing, but in that time the woman had spritzed them with something that could only be described as smelling a lot like Raid.

A cloud of perfume floated around them for a moment before the woman patted Sara on the back and slipped her arm through hers again. "There now that smells better…"

Both Grissom and Sara would have begged to differ but they were too busy choking and gasping for air.

"Yeah…right…" Sara wheezed slightly, and stared forlornly at the rain cascading down the lobby windows, cursing the fact the weather had conspired against her and the next seminar. "You know Sam, maybe I'll just go back to my room and have a shower…"

"Come one Sara…don't be such a party pooper." She beamed at the tall brunette and continued to drag them towards her point of destination, her hand tightly gripping Grissom's arm. "Phil and Greely are dying to see you. Oh and you know who else is here?" She nudged the woman beside her. "Tim..." She let the name sink in for a moment before continuing. "And I know for a fact he was actively looking for you. You know you broke his heart. He's been a miserable son of a bitch to work with ever since you left."

Sara's heart slipped into her shoe and she stopped, preparing to turn away amidst some very grand excuses, when the man in question turned her way.

_Shit! He was standing a mere four feet in front of her._

Timothy Melton was there and pulling her into a passionate embrace even before she had time to draw in her next breath. "God Sara, it is so good to see you." Grabbing the sides of her face in his warm hands, he planted an excited kiss on her mouth and then pulled away. "I was hoping you would be here and then I saw your name in the program and knew it was fate." He took looked into her eyes for a long moment and Sara was completely overcome with guilt.

"Tim…uh…hi…" She looked at the tall sandy haired man unsure of what to say. "It's good to see you." He hadn't changed much. His rugged good looks are what had drawn her to him in the first place, and it seemed the old adage was true; some men did in fact get better with age. In his case this is exactly what had happened. Despite his present position at the San Fran crime lab, he still dressed casually in dark dress pants and a light golf shirt. But now he wore his hair a little longer than he used to and the beard was gone, making him look younger and if possible even more dangerous than he did when they'd worked together.

"Mr. Melton…" Grissom finally shook of the woman clinging to him and held his hand out. He was angry, jealous, and curious; a volatile combination.

He wanted to jump on the man's head and _announce_ to the whole lobby that Sara was his.

He wanted to take his beautiful protégé into his arms and _show_ everyone in the lobby that she was his.

But mostly he wanted know who this guy thought he was, that he felt he could openly kiss Sara Sidle in public, and not have her punch his lights out.

"I'm Gil Grissom." He said tightly.

"Ah yeah…the entomologist..." Melton took his hand and shook it nonchalantly. "Call me Tim. I'm the newly appointed Assistant Director of the San Fran Crime lab. Nice to meet you, man"

The look on Grissom's face told Sara that he didn't feel the same way.

"Come on." The younger man slipped his arm around Sara's small waist, and despite her protests, moved her towards a waiting table inside the lounge. "The guys are dying to see you."

"Aren't they cute together?" Sammy Kendrick sighed and managed to grip Gil Grissom's arm again before he had a chance to move away. Her normally high pitched voice dropped conspiratorially. "You know he used to be her fiancé…"

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimers:**_ I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has been going through some heavy exams and is traveling so I appreciate it all the more.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

Thank you for reading and all of your kind reviews.

**Chapter 14 : Risk**

"He wasn't my fiancé…" Sara told him in the silence of the elevator. The afternoon had been a crapshoot, and try as they might there had been no easy way to escape the table and her friends from SF. Sam had been all over Grissom from the start, her long red fingernails surely having left telltale indentations in his skin from the number of times he'd rose to leave only to be pulled back down by the blonde woman's dagger like talons. Two hours later, both were exhausted and had only managed to escape with the promise that they would share a table at the dance later that evening.

It had been hell.

Sara Sidle simply felt nauseous because despite whatever progress had been made over the course of the day, Grissom's temperament had changed yet again. Now he was seemingly sullen, and judging by the grimace plastered in his face, terribly pissed.

"You don't have to explain to me, Sara."

She heard the words, but the tone behind it said the exact opposite.

"Look, he asked me to marry him. It was a month before you called for me to come to Vegas."

Grissom's cool blue gaze caused a chill to run up her spine. "Really, you don't have to tell me."

"I didn't say yes or no." The leather handle of Sara's briefcase twisted in her nervous grip. "I just felt bad. I…I'm not a fan of marriage, especially after watching my parent's fall apart the way it did. And..." She shrugged, "I wasn't all that interested in Tim either." She admitted sadly.

"You must have been interested enough to date him…sleep with him…" Grissom's voice was slightly raised, the aggravation becoming clearer. "And all the time we were talking, emailing back and forth."

Sara finally got it, and raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Yes…to all three, Gris."

"Don't you think that's a little adulterous?"

Sara's temper flared and not for the first time since the trip began did she consider scratching his big baby-blues right out of his face. Instinctively, her hand came up and she slapped the stop button on the elevator. "You have got to be kidding me…"

There was a momentary look of abject terror in Gil Grissom's eyes. Had she not been so terribly pissed off Sara Sidle probably would have found it incredibly funny.

"We were friends Grissom…FRIENDS…We were not having internet sex, or phone sex or…hell, we've only ever actually had real sex once and it was long before he ever came along. So you can't stand there and tell me we were doing anything that could be considered even remotely wrong in the eyes of God or Buddha or Allah." Her hands were shaking with nervous tension as she went on. "You know sometimes our emails were even down right clinical. So I hardly think our correspondence could be considered anywhere even remotely disloyal to the person I was dating at the time."

"The Koran approves of multiple partners, and the person you were dating did have a name." He reminded her as if he thought it were something that was trivial to her.

"Multiple partners for the man only and yes, it was Tim, I know… And before him there was Robert, and Brad, and this really hot black guy name Anderson. Do you want me to go on?" Sara's normally dusky voice had taken on a decidedly higher pitch, but the hurt in Grissom's eyes forced her to take hold of her emotions and reign them back in. "Gris…" She held her hand out in front of her as if to stop herself from saying anything more damning. "We made love once. You walked away. And I dealt with that, okay? For a long time after you left my bed that morning, it hurt. But I wasn't willing to give up what we had built together either. So I played by your rules. I settled for friendship."

Grissom had turned away and appeared to be unmoved by Sara's explanation, so much so that he had resorted to pounding the buttons on the elevator to try and get it to go.

"I'm not sure what you expected…I thought you weren't interested."

The lift suddenly jerked into motion and began its upward hike, and Grissom simply stared at the floor.

Sara gave him until the elevator had dinged to a stop to respond, and when nothing was forthcoming she swallowed down the bile that was sitting in the throat and nodded softly. "It's not right for you to judge me. I'm not sure what you were thinking at the time, or what you're thinking now, but the analogy _'you can't suck and blow at the same time_' applies here." The doors slid open and she stepped out dreading the idea of being locked in the room with a glowering and angry Grissom. "You simply can't tell me '_no I'm not interested'_ in a relationship with you, and yet expect that I am going to remain faithful to the notion of something that you have told me will never happen. It's not fair. It's like barking at shadows…"

Her dark eyes sought out his, only to find that they were turned away from her. A second later Grissom slapped a button on the elevator console and the doors closed.

"Sonofabitch…" Sara declared to an empty hallway and stomped off towards their room.

_Absolutely, her head agreed, and for once her heart stayed silent._

By six o'clock Grissom was still doing his imitation of the invisible man. The Association had deigned that cocktails and appetizers would be served at 6:30 sharp, and dinner would commence at seven.

Sara had considered ditching the ball and running away for the night. There were plenty of hotspots on the streets of Miami, but she thought the better of it and decided that if she was going to party - the Association's ball would be the pretty much the same thing; anonymous strangers for the most part, decent food, and lots of free drinks. She could have probably gotten the latter at some bar as well, but she'd learned early on most guys expected something in return for their money, and Sara neither had the desire nor the time to waste on someone she really wasn't interested in. Plus if she did – by some small chance of fate - have too much to drink the walk back to her room was a hell of a lot shorter.

So it was with this decided that Sara pulled out her costume and went to work. Twenty minutes later she was doing a fairly tempting version of a cat, albeit a lace and leather clad feline and was happy with the results.

Staring in the mirror she appraised herself critically…

In high-school and middle school she had been teased mercilessly. Stork, bean pole, pencil, had been only a few of the names she'd been called. Admittedly, she was very tall and very skinny, and the antithesis of most of the soft girlie cheerleader types that ran the school. It had been embarrassing at dances to be taller than most of the boys, so she never went. It had been humiliating in gym to be a long tangle of limbs – especially when combined with a serious lack of athleticism, so she feigned sick a lot. And it had been down right painful when, on the odd occasion, she was invited to some social event that required her to mix with (or in her case tower over) most of her peers, so she never attended. The only place she ever felt even remotely at home was in the science lab: none of the Barbie girls ever hung out there so there were no petite, curvaceous babettes to whom which she would be compared.

Things had changed somewhat by her junior year in college. Despite the fact that she was younger than most of the students, she discovered that a lot of the guys willingly overlooked that, and even more of them appreciated a tall lanky woman, geek or no.

Now well into her adulthood, and thanks to the birth of the supermodel era she'd come to realize that there were far worse things than being slim (skinny was such a pathetic sounding word) and tall. In fact, she liked her body. And it was this hard won confidence that spoke to her now.

She looked good…

Really good…

In fact purrrrfect…

She grinned at her own joke.

The cat suit was made completely from black stretch lace and covered her from toe to neck and wrist to wrist, but because of the nature of the fabric there was a lot of skin available for show. The model on the package had worn it without the tight leather shorts and strapless leather corset, but Sara was not nearly that brave. Besides, the leather and lace fired off all sorts of interesting connotations which, when combined with the diamond studded cat collar strapped around her neck, was down right sinful.

Pulling her hair into a quick bun, dabbed some concealer over the gash on her forehead, and touched up her makeup a little, paying especially close attention to creating feline like eyes. She wasn't sure at first if she should go whole hog, but then decided what the hell, and made her nose pink, adding some whiskers to complete the look. As a final touch she pulled out a pair of piercing yellow cat eye lenses and wrestled them into her dark orbs. Her ears were in the form of a black velvet headband so she plucked it up off the sink, popped it on her head and then slipped into black ballet slippers and matching lace gloves.

Her costume complete, she grabbed some money, a credit card and her room key and shoved them into the pocket of her shorts. It wasn't until she was on her way out of the room that Grissom decided to reappear, and he was soaked.

Some part of her, most likely that fickle heart of hers, felt immediate concern followed by sympathy for him. While her head just told her to…

'_Keep on walking.'_

'_Put one foot in front of the other and move through the doorway and down the hall.' _

'_Show him you mean business.' _

'_Prove to him you are over him_.'

'_Don't be such a fucking pushover Sidle…'_

The fairly one sided internal debate lasted all of two seconds. The pain of his early morning insinuation rushed back to remind her of how it felt when she left herself open to his promises, followed by his achingly unfair judgment in the elevator that afternoon.

Her mind was made up.

Gil Grissom seemed to delight in tormenting her, so this time she did not rush to him in worry, or even ask him where he'd been. This time she left; her pink feline lips tightly pursed and her fluffy black kitty tail swaying behind her sashaying hips.

Gracefully she walked the five feet down the hall to the elevator and slapped the elevator call button.

"Sara…"

She didn't reply to him, but couldn't stop herself from turning to look in his direction, and that is when she saw it, the look of absolute lust in his eyes.

He spun and headed towards her clearly intent on something. A fight…? A kiss…? A tension relieving fuck-fest against the hallway wall…? Regardless, it wasn't going to happen. The elevator opened, Sara Sidle stepped on and simply stared at him with all the anger she could muster as the doors closed against his brooding face.

'_Bite me Grissom'…Her head said triumphantly, while her heart broke a little more._


	15. Chapter 15

**_Disclaimers:_**I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She has put her time and effort into editing this and I greatly appreciate it. I know that she has been busy with school and that makes her efforts all that much more important.

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

Thank you for reading and all of your kind reviews.

There is another chapter ready for posting it will be up tomorrow sometime and then hopefully one more after that and that will be all she wrote.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 15 : Rotten**

The Ritz had done it. They'd managed to clean up the Venetian room so that there was no indication that, less than 6 hours previously, there had been 10 dead bodies wreaking of decomp and all manner of insects hanging about.

It really was amazing.

Instead of the stench of death, an intoxicating scent of roses permeated the room and, there nestled amongst its artisan confines, sat a large number of elegantly dressed tables, swathed in fine china, soft silken table dressings, and dim glow of candlelight. It really was magnificent and depressingly romantic.

The ball was already packed as Sara arrived; many of her peers, excited by the prospect of free food and booze, had shown up exactly on time in order to take in the full advantage of the Association's generosity. It took her all of three seconds to spot the people she was due to spend the evening with and after shooing away some last minute second thoughts she made her way through the crowd of dancers, priests, princesses and all other manner of creatures.

Most of her friends were already seated at the table, and Tim had taken the liberty of getting her a drink even before she'd shown up – an action in and of it self that was very telling.

He shoved it into her hand the minute she approached the table, indicating that he hadn't forgotten, and that he was hoping that they could have some fun…

No doubt the horizontal kind.

He had made that clear enough that afternoon when, despite how much she'd swiped at him and tried to pull away, he wouldn't keep his hands off of her. Thankfully amidst all of the gossip, shop talk and catching up, there had been little time for intimate conversation. She'd counted the hours waiting for the opportunity to escape…which made it all the more strange that she'd agreed to show up at the ball.

His eyes skimmed over her body in a less that clean manner, a lecherous grin creeping across his face.

He'd _always_ been a pushover for sex and a decent pair of legs, and he'd _always_ been slow to get the hint.

"You look stunning…" He smiled and drew her into a far too comfortable kiss, before dropping his hand somewhere way too close to her backside.

"Thanks…" She smiled tightly and indicated the surf board he was carrying. "Very cool." His costume consisted of the board, which was a little difficult to manage - and a funky colored wet suit, with a crazy gel job that made his hair look slick and wet.

Tim's blue eyes sparkled daringly at her; a genuine smile splitting his face as she quickly moved from his grasp to say hello to everyone.

_He does have a great body, and hot surfer boy looks… _Her head pointed out, after she'd made the rounds, and he'd drawn her back into his clutches.

_You left him for a reason…_ Her heart reminded her, though held in his casual embrace Sara had been hard pressed to remember why.

Sam, who was sporting a barely there cabaret costume - that was straining against her heaving cleavage - hauled herself up from her chair and moved past Sara, her bright blue eyes searching the entrance: she was clearly looking for Grissom. A disappointed scowl decorated her face. "Where is he?"

"Uh…" She glanced over her shoulder. "I think he's in his room…" She neglected to mention that they were sharing a room.

"Well is he coming?" Sam took on a typically petulant tone.

Sara shook her head uncertainly… "Not sure, actually… You know – I'm not his keeper." She told the woman pointedly.

Tim seemed to find some relief in this and decided to take the liberty of massaging her butt slightly, a leer spreading across his face. "Let's dance…"

That's when it came back to her.

The _WHY_…

Aside from the fact that Grissom had offered her a job in Vegas, she had left him for several very good reasons…

The primary one being that they had fought _constantly._

Tim Melton was an attractive man but despite his looks, despite the fact that he was great in bed, and most importantly despite the fact that he was clever and intelligent, there were a lot of drawbacks to him.

He was, in fact, one of the most chauvinistic men she had ever met. In all the time she'd known him, he never gave her the kudos she deserved, never acknowledged any of her achievements, and most importantly had treated her like property. That is why his proposal had taken her by surprise, originally. How could they have had a marriage when they could barely have a relationship?

Extracting herself from his grip, she maintained a polite air and turned for the bar. "I'm going to get a drink first."

"But I got you one…A Caesar…" He indicated the drink he'd shoved into her hand; the one that was still there.

"Yeah…and thanks….," she replied dropping it on the table beside her. "But I've kinda grown off of them." She called back over her shoulder.

God.

Maybe real bar would have been a better idea after all, Sara reflected over this notion as she made her way over to the line up, and that's when she saw him as he entered.

He was dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow…or at least a pretty good rendition of him. He even had the swagger down pat since he kinda swaggered normally, anyway.

Surprise was etched on her face; he'd decided to attend after all. Sam would be exceptionally pleased. Sara tried to look away nonchalantly, but it was too late. He spotted her and started in her direction, his distinct saunter giving away what his well put together costume would not.

So Sara found herself faced with a choice; skip the drink and hide, which was inherently not in her nature, or leave entirely - also not something she would do. She was still mulling it over when much to her chagrin she was saved from having to decide entirely. He was maybe ten feet away when he was intercepted by a very attractive and very familiar blonde, dressed in an elegant Marie Antoinette costume. For a moment the young CSI wasn't sure whether to thank Terri Miller for intercepting Grissom or to smack the woman's head off her shoulders out of shear jealousy; she settled for ignoring the entire situation in lieu of placing her order.

She was still standing back to the two of them when a drunken voice broke above both the music and the din of the room's occupants.

"You cheap whore…"

The voice was one she would never forget since she had been forced to listen to it repeatedly singing almost all 99 verses of 99 bottles of beer on the wall, during the ride from Miami airport to the hotel, the day before.

It was a seriously plastered Professor Durham and his venom – which had caused the numerous people in the room to drop their voices and turn and look – was directed an attractive Marie Antoinette.

Grissom was standing in front of the man with Terri Miller taking up refuge behind his bulk. He didn't look like he was there voluntarily, but seemed to be unable to disentangle himself form the beautiful blonde.

"Who are you calling a whore, you lowlife, drunken excuse for a man?" She poked her head out long enough to fire off her own round of insults while Grissom held his hand up to keep the man in front of him from either punching him or falling on him Sara wasn't sure.

Every instinct in her body told her to leave it alone and enjoy the show, but there was something inside of her that simply wouldn't let her.

It was her damn conscience again, egging her on. This is how she found herself standing between Jack Sparrow and a soused Superman.

"Professor?" She smiled sexily, and stepped back slightly as the man leered and made to kiss her.

"Sara my dear… you precious and naughty pussy you…" He missed her entirely as he lurched off to the side.

The dark haired woman's eyebrow rose noticeably, as she considered what her mark in his class would be if she punched him.

Tilting forwards, the drunken man's hand made contact with her arm and he used it to steady himself. "Have you met my whoring ex-wife?" He bellowed around her and past Grissom, who at the moment was supporting Sara from behind, with one warm palm firmly pressed into her back.

Ex-wife… Well…

Sara had little time to ponder the strange turn of events before the man was on his knees in front of her, his eyes firmly fixed on her colorful navel ring. The brilliant jewels of if easily visible through the clingy black lace of her costume. "Very hot…" He murmured both of his hands coming up and landing on her hips.

At this point Grissom, who'd remained fairly uninvolved through the whole ordeal, stepped around Sara, with Terri Miller still clinging to him. "Keep your hands off of her, Professor."

"It's okay," Sara said tersely, and tugged her arm out of the bugman's grasp before he could pull her away from the fray. Turning back to the man on his knees she wrapped one strong hand around his forearm. "Professor Durham… Paul…do you mind if I call you that?"

He nodded his head his mouth perilously close to her belly button, and its adornment.

"Paul, why don't you and I go back to your room?" She suggested, almost kittenishly.

Grissom's mouth dropped. "Sara you can't be serious…"

The attractive brunette flashed a tight smile at him and shook her head almost imperceptivity. She really didn't want to go anywhere with the man, but the situation being what it was she honestly had no choice. He was being compliant with her, so she figured returning him to his room to let him sleep off the two days of alcohol he'd clearly been soaking in, was a good thing for all concerned. Provided, of course, she could keep his hands off of her.

Something at the moment she was busy struggling with as he had firmly attached his lips to her abdomen in such a way that had everyone staring. "Up doc…." She ordered shoving his head away. "Let's continue this upstairs."

"Mmmm…." He simply moaned, and allowed her to help him to his feet. "At least she's not a frigid two timing bitch like you…" Durham slurred back over his shoulder at his cowering ex.

"Asshole…" Terry fired back from behind an angry Jack Sparrow, who was caught up in trying to get his own hands on the young CSI to stop her from leaving with the man. It was very difficult to do with Marie Antoinette firmly affixed to his arm.

"Sara…" He moved after her but wasn't fast enough. Within seconds she had the drunken man on his feet, and was nudging him towards the door. "Sara…" Grissom's voice was almost panicked as she had seemingly ignored him and headed rapidly in the direction of the exit. It galled him to see one of Durham's arms draped comfortably over her shoulder, and his mouth moving dangerously close to her face.

"Oh, Gil… Don't worry she'll be okay." The smiling blond wrapped her arms around his neck, and planted a firm kiss on his lips. "My hero…" she sighed. "Thank you…"

Gripping the anthropologist by both of her forearms, Grissom pried them away from his neck and turned to go after Sara, his eyes catching hers and the disappointment in them, as she passed through the thick hardwood doors and out into the throng of people gathered in the lobby, a staggering Superhero still clinging tightly to her. "Fuck…" He mumbled under his breath, as Terri slipped her arm through his and drew him closer to her.

"Paul - you know, he's an ass, and a drunk, but his bark really is worse than his bite." She smiled up at him her red lips looking almost macabre against the creamy skin of her face. "Aside from which Ms. Sidle is a big girl, if she wants to go to his room with him then, that's perfectly okay. Despite all of his shortcomings – and believe me there are many – sex was never one of them. He was always a great lover."

Grissom's mouth dropped. "She didn't want to leave with anyone, Terri, and I hardly think she wants to have sex with him either. She took him out of here because of you." He removed her hand from his arm, and grimaced at the former queen of France. "She was trying to help you out of an embarrassing situation and probably trying to prevent me from getting my lights punched out by a drunken Superman."

"Oh…" The woman actually looked concerned for a moment, and then smiled at him again. "Well she didn't seem too disturbed by his attention, and he really is quite harmless…" She shrugged.

If Sara had heard her say that she probably would have strapped the woman down to a guillotine herself, because at the very same moment the Marie Antoinette was uttering those words, the tall brunette was heavily involved in the wrestling match with the man who was busy proving himself quite the opposite of harmless.

Paul Durham was actually larger and heavier than the young CSI by almost a hundred pounds and the moment he had her pinned to his bed, with his mouth firmly affixed to her throat.

"Professor…" She struggled against the weight of him but didn't seem to get anywhere. "Paul…" Her voice was a little louder, as she shoved ineffectively against him. Rolling her eyes, she waited for him to stop moaning against the skin of her collarbone, and then pushed at him again. "Professor…"

"God you are so hot…" he mumbled and ground his erection firmly into her leg, as his long slender fingers, making their way into the top of her shorts; their destination clearly evident.

"Can you stop, please…?" she asked him once, her fingernails tightly gripping the taut muscles of his shoulder.

When he didn't listen to her, his mouth instead drawing a wet alcohol scented path up to her left earlobe, Sara pushed with all her might and then demanded he stop.

When he still seemed unmoved by her command, the slim brunette did the only other thing she could do; she slammed her knee up into his groin as he lifted up to reposition himself directly over her, and watched the look of complete horror as he collapsed onto the mattress beside her. The agonized huff he let out was followed by a yelp that Sara figured had to have been heard downstairs, as it had almost deafened her. Staring over at him on the bed where he appeared to have gone fetal, she sucked in a shuddering breath and kissed her A+ goodbye.

Superman was moaning again but this time there was no passion involved. Climbing to her feet, the young woman reached over and felt for his pulse, it was rapid, but not thready, so he didn't appear to be going into shock.

Moving to a nearby chair she sat and watched him for a few minutes, concerned that she may have ruptured something. But within a short time his writhing had stopped, his breathing evened out and then in an almost melodic fashion he began to snore. "Great…" Sara muttered, and checked his pulse once again before leaving the room.

The elevator dinged to a stop and a leather clad feline stepped off of it into a conglomeration of odd and horrifying beings.

Between the lift and the ballroom doors Sara counted 10 arachnids of varying degrees of believability, (in her minds eye she couldn't help but wonder if at least six of them might be Grissom's insectoid fan club members, and the remaining four… well… she really just didn't want to know), two Supermen, various other pirates, and then all manner of aliens, hookers, show girls, and other things she simply couldn't put a name to.

The numbers had almost quadrupled since she'd left the party twenty minutes previous and as little fun as it all had seemed earlier it appeared to be even less so now. Moving to the doorway she looked inside to see that the lights had dimmed somewhat, and many of the people were seated at their tables already two courses in to the humongous buffet that had been set up along one wall of the room.

She was gauging the likelihood of her making it through the room and back with a plate of food without being discovered when she heard a soft male voice from behind her utter her name, followed by another one she recognized as Sam's announcing… "That's her right over there."

Turning, Sara almost fell over a man who, for the situation, looked decidedly normal. Her brain was already trying to figure out who or what he was dressed as, when it dawned on her that he wasn't an attendee, but rather a local CSI as the badge he was busy waving in her face indicated.

"Are you Ms. Sidle?" He grinned appreciatively at her and tucked his Miami Dade ID back into his suit jacket pocket.

The slim brunette studied him a moment, deciding that he looked a little like Greg Sanders, though if asked why she probably would have been hard pressed to explain what it was specifically about him that was reminiscent of the lab rat turned fledgling CSI.

Ryan Wolf, as his badge had identified, was dressed in a dark blue jacket, a simple white t-shirt, and a pair of well warn blue jeans. On his face was a relieved grin, which told her he already knew the answer to the question he'd just asked.

"That's me…" she smiled tentatively back at him, her arms instinctively folding across her chest, in a typically professional stance. "And what can I do for you Mr. Wolf?"

"I have been looking for you all over; very hard to do considering the circumstances." He held up a picture of her, which was clearly from the compliance database. It was the same one she had on her work ID. "Funny you don't look anything like your photo… It must be the extra set of ears you appear to have grown…"

Sara's eyebrows shot up in amusement and she nodded slightly. "It's an outdated photo… I'm not a CSI anymore… Just a simple cat…Meow…"

"Right…" He smiled. "Well, I hope the part about your not being a CSI anymore isn't true." The young man intoned, "Because my boss sent me to get you. He needs your consult on a case, and I have taken way too long already."

"And your boss is?" Sara had a feeling she already knew, but it was confirmed when the name Horatio Cane rolled off his lips.

"Thought so..." She grimaced slightly.

"I looked really foolish walking around a costume party 500 people deep, with your picture and asking if anyone had seen you." He smiled again and looked at his sneakers.

"Yeah, I can see how you might have gotten a few strange looks." She agreed.

"I'm lucky Cabaret girl over there knew you." He placed his hand on her upper arm and gave her a slight tug towards the exit; his palm was warm through the thin skin of lace covering her.

Clearly she didn't have a choice in the matter since he was already trying to drag her in the direction of the door. "Cabaret girl is an old, uh, acquaintance…" Sara stopped their movement towards the exit, and dug in her heels. "Before we leave I need to go change and then tell my boss where I am off to."

"Honestly Ms. Sidle. I have been here for almost 45 minutes. The scene is 20 away, and my ass is already in a sling. We don't have time for you to change."

Sara held her hands out at the side and indicated her costume. "I can't go to a crime scene dressed like this."

"There are overalls at the scene; I'll get you a pair when we arrive." He tugged her arm again. "Please, Ms. Sidle. H was going on about location and timing and he wasn't going to let the coroner move the body until you arrived."

"Call me Sara… and this doesn't make any sense at all. Why would he need me to consult on anything?"

"He said you are an expert on the BDSM life style and this relates to a case you're already involved in." He grinned at her, an almost embarrassed look plastered on his face.

Sara simply rolled her eyes, and was going to argue that she was far from an expert when he gave her another pull towards the door. "Okay… fine… just one minute though – I need to let my boss know where I'm going."

He released her arm. "One minute," he warned as she sauntered back towards the ballroom.

Sara had just entered when she caught sight of the man she was looking for, locked in the arms of Marie Antoinette, in the middle of the dance floor. He didn't look like he was missing her too terribly, so the slim brunette spun quickly on her heel and headed back in the direction of her waiting CSI.

"Did you find him?" The young man asked, at the same time falling in beside her as she voluntarily wove her way through the crowd and headed for the exit.

"He's a little preoccupied at the moment." She huffed and exited the building.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**_Disclaimers:_**I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She is terrific at this beta thing

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing.

Thank you for reading and all of your kind reviews.

**Chapter 16: Ruination**

Sara was cold, damp, starving, exhausted, and supremely pissed off - and there was no disguising it because the full gamut of emotions clearly showed on her face as she stomped her way through the brightly lit lobby of the Ritz Carlton.

Not in the mood for much of anything, she literally snarled at the far too cheerful desk clerk as she blew past her and stepped onto the waiting elevator.

It was nine in the morning, and the wind was still busy kicking up the grime of the city outside, with the marvelous possibility of a hurricane being the one thing the monotone jerk on the radio station seemed to have fixated on for the 20 minute drive from the Miami Dade lab facility to her hotel.

Some fucking vacation/convention this had turned out to be, she groused quietly to herself as the elevator dinged its way up the 5 floors to her room, her arms neatly folded across the oversized blue forensics jacket they'd loaned her. She'd been rendered homeless the minute she'd arrived, had to deal with a Gilbert Grissom whose behavior could only be compared to a severely PMSing woman high on crack, then in a marvelous blast from her past an old boyfriend who was a royal jackass had sprung up from the depths to totally screw up everything. Aside from being branded the forensic tart aka kinky sex CSI from Las Vegas (and hell yes someone had actually called her that at the scene shortly after she'd arrived – this was of course before Horatio Caine had put a stop to it, and thus preventing her being charged with aggravated assault), there wasn't much else that could go wrong… At least that is what she thought until the doors slid open on her floor to reveal a barely dressed, makeup smudged, Terri Miller who was sporting an I've been fucked within an inch of my life smile.

Sara instantly and irrationally hated her.

"Ms. Sidle…" The older woman smiled condescendingly at the younger woman, as they exchanged places. "You look like you had a good night, too…"

The slim brunette caught the woman's wink as the doors slid shut behind her.

Yeah it had been a damn good night. 40 mile an hour winds whipping at the

Port-side warehouse had turned up another dead body; with assorted BDSM paraphernalia scattered about it. Many of the items were similar to the ones found in Sara's bathroom on the Friday and Horatio Caine, who'd been somewhat amused and scarily enthralled with by her costume, had asked that she spend a little while filling him in on the items and their uses.

Sara had kindly informed him that there really wasn't much she could tell him that he couldn't find out from the internet or in a book but the man had been insistent that there was little time to spare since the body was the second in three days and they wanted the killer caught and behind bars.

The body, though secure, had been at the mercy of the elements despite the location it had been found in. An old drunk desperate to get out of the ongoing storm had wandered into the warehouse through a broken lock on the main door and had discovered the corpse wedged between some crumbling boxes of rusting canned tuna and the inside wall of the warehouse. The fact that it was indoors not withstanding, the body was soaked, softened and bloated from rain that had leaked in through wide gaps in the galvanized metal sheathing that made up the external structure of the building itself.

The victim, a young dark haired woman in her early thirties, had been discarded like garbage, and by the time she was found had also been deemed dinner by most of the very hungry rodents that occupied the otherwise neglected unit. It seemed they thought her a succulent snack.

Caine and his men had been on rat patrol, all the while trying to gather any residual evidence that hadn't been washed away by the wind and rain, or contaminated by the cumbersome wildlife that happened to call the dilapidated structure home. By the time she and Wolf had arrived, the Lieutenant was severely pissed off at the length of time it had taken his CSI to retrieve her, thought the only indication of his anger had been in the form of a taciturn glare he'd shot at younger man before the he'd gingerly grasped the Las Vegas CSI by the elbow and led her into the warehouse. Sara had tried to come to the young man's defense, but it had been to no avail. Proof of this was evident in the fact that as many as 5 hours later Ryan Wolf could still be found sifting through the fetid dumpsters that lined the pier.

The jumpsuits at the scene had turned out to be non-existent much like the invisible rollaways at the hotel, since almost everyone there had appropriated one the minute they knew the kind of weather and location that they were faced with, and Sara had been left with a thin nylon forensics jacket as her only means of warmth, and coverage for the better part of 6 hours, and what had been originally represented as a _short time_ had spread out into almost 14 hours once a call classifying the case as a serial had come through to Caine's cell phone.

One DNA sample run through the FBI's new National DNA Database had turned up a string of cases across the country, beginning in San Francisco 8 months previously. Sara had helped sift through information and had been asked to give her opinion on that would help build a profile of the possible killer, and she'd done it all scantily clad in a cat costume.

At first there had been some interesting looks passed her way, but once she'd removed the makeup, put away the cat ears, an stared down a few of the lab rats, people had started leaving her alone.

Had Calleigh Duchesne been on duty, Sara could probably have borrowed some clothes from her. But as it was, the inappropriateness of her outfit had quickly slipped to the back of her mind as she and the other CSIs hammered the evidence into submission, and consulted with the other labs around the country to try and draw together some of the less than obvious connections.

As it stood she had hung on until the very last possible moment, leaving herself just enough time to get back, get dressed, pack and then head off to her final presentation.

The hallway lights were dim and comforting as she made her way along it to the room she shared with Grissom, her eyes passing mournfully over the yellow tape that still ran across the next door over. For a moment thoughts of what might have been danced groggily through her head, before the rational part of her banished them along with any other silly notions her sleep deprived mind might have conjured up. If it was meant to happen, it would have, she told herself as she retrieved the key from her shorts pocket and slipped it into the lock and out again.

The light flashed green.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting when she entered the room but what she found wasn't it. There were most definitely signs of life - Grissom's costume was scattered about quite maniacally and his luggage, half packed, was sitting on the bed – but that was all. No living breathing bossman/bugman/angry man...

Maybe he was avoiding her, Sara surmised. It would be very much in keeping with the type of person he was. Denial had gone a long way to making him the wonderful recluse he was today - well, in his private life anyway. She still felt it odd, how someone could be so certain and confident on a professional level, and yet so incredibly discombobulated when it came to a social life and matters of the heart. Though, obviously he'd harbored none of those same issues with the illustrious Terri Miller, and truth be told that fact hurt.

She was very tempted to check beneath the bed, the vision of him wriggling under it when he heard the card in the reader danced through her head, but she cast it aside knowing that it was just her exhausted brain causing randomness of her thoughts.

Instead she grabbed her toiletries and then took off into the bathroom for a hot and cleansing shower.

Twenty minutes later she emerged, still damp but feeling a little more refreshed and a hell of a lot warmer. Grissom's plush towel was wrapped tightly around her slim body; the distinct scent of him was a subtle tease as she rummaged through her own suitcase for her undergarments and the other dress she'd brought.

She hadn't intended on wearing it for any of the seminars. Truth be told, she'd packed it in case she'd had the opportunity to go out to dinner or wander along the beach at some point during her visit - a possibility nixed by the horrendous weather which seemingly had laid claim to Miami.

She held it up and examined it. It was a white and very feminine sun dress. Cut like a tank on the top, the thin crepe-like material skimmed her body from the low set neckline all the way down to the full skirt which stopped mid calf. It didn't look even remotely professional but it was the only clean dress she had since the red one was still in the hands of the police, and the suit dress of the previous day still smelled of decomp courtesy of Gil Grissom's presentation. She could have worn pants, but she'd only brought one pair with her, and they were jeans. That left her with a few pairs of shorts and a pair of capris…

So the dress it was.

Then next time she emerged from the washroom she was fully clothed, her dark hair freshly dried into its usual ringlets, and a light sheen of makeup dusting her face. Tugging a maroon sweater from her suitcase, she haphazardly shoved everything else into it except for a black long-sleeved t-shirt and a matching pair of capris, which she tossed into her carry-on.

Packing was short work, as she really hadn't unpacked, so other than tossing her toiletries back into the case, and zipping up she was pretty much done.

Rolling the suitcase over to the door she grabbed her laptop bag and placed it and the carry-on there as well, and then neatly folding Grissom's towel she deposited it beside his half full bag.

Sara was more than a little curious as to where the man was, but wasn't about to go searching for him; she'd done more than enough chasing after him over the years! She ruminated a moment considering the recent turn of events. Stupidly, she had allowed herself to fall back into the cycle that Grissom had perpetuated, but this was it, she reassured herself, causing a sigh of relief from her head, and twinge from her heart.

Scanning the room one last time she called for a bellboy to retrieve her suitcase, and then tugged a hard copy of her presentation out to review it. There was fifteen minutes left before she needed to head downstairs.

Hers was one of the last three lectures scheduled for the day and their flight out was scheduled for 90 minutes after the end of her presentation, it would be a press to get to the airport in time, but she was planning to cut the question period short by handing out her email address. Hopefully, there would be no tie ups with the bus, and they would not find themselves doing the same mad dash that they had to get there.

God! She had to stop thinking in terms of them, or they, or us… She redirected her thoughts.

As enjoyable as the convention had been with regards to her own work, Sara realized that she preferred to be a participant rather than a presenter, since other than Grissom's lecture and the one on blood spatter, she really hadn't had an opportunity to take in much of anything; from the flyer that they'd received when they checked in, there had been some interesting forensics presentations that she'd missed out on.

A quick review of her notes allowed her to relax a little so she closed her folder and wandered over to the sliders. It was still raining, and the wind was swatting madly at the city of Miami. It was almost as though Mother Nature herself had thought that the place needed a good cleaning. The waves in front of the hotel easily reached about 3 feet in height and, aside from the hurricane warning hanging over the local residents; it looked like it could have been awesome surfing weather.

Despite the time of day the tide was at an all time high, the thick foam swirl it almost completely covering the sand of the extensive beach, and breaking with a cacophony of loud crashes against the breakwater a little further down towards the other hotels. The ocean truly was beautiful, and not for the first time in the last few days did she wonder at the wisdom of moving to the middle of the godforsaken desert.

A slight rap on the door dragged her from her thoughts and brought her face to face with someone who still carried the residual reek of garbage.

"Hey…" Sara smiled broadly at Ryan Wolf and ushered him in. She was about to close the door when a thick hand stopped it.

Exhausted dark eyes met with equally as tired blue ones as Sara turned and addressed the other man in the room, virtually ignoring Gil Grissom as he made his way inside. "Is everything okay?" Sara stared quizzically at the young CSI. She'd last seen him at around 6am sifting through piles of garbage in one of the many labs at Miami-Dade, a quick wave and that was all there was to their goodbye.

"Yeah…fine…I um just came to get my wallet." A flash of red spread across his face as he looked past the statuesque brunette to the glowering man behind her, "Ah…It's in my jacket pocket."

"Oh…God…" Sara's hand immediately went to her mouth hiding the embarrassed smile behind it. "I'm so sorry. I was in such a hurry when I left that I wasn't thinking." She wandered over to where she had dropped it on the chair and retrieved it. By the time she turned back, Ryan Wolf was already holding his hand out to Gil Grissom.

"I'm Ryan Wolf." He stood and waited for some acknowledgment.

Grudgingly, the entomologist took it and shook it stiffly. "Gil Grissom…"

"Yeah…nice to meat you, sir," he grinned at the older man, a little confused by the tension that seemed to be rolling off of him in waves.

"Thanks…" Sara stepped almost between the two men and presented the coat to Ryan. "It was kind of you to lend it to me."

"No problem…" He smiled tightly. "The coat you could have kept, but in light of the possible hurricane they may need my ID to identify my water logged body…" He reached into the pocket and tugged out the wallet. "Don't leave home without it." He waved the wallet in her direction before shoving it into his pants pocket. "You can keep the jacket…" He held it out to her. "Memories of an eventful weekend spent in Miami?" He offered.

She laughed at this but shook her head. "Nah you keep it." She threw a thumb in the direction of the slider. "Assuming our flight isn't cancelled, you'll probably need it more than I will, but thanks for letting me use it."

"Anytime…" The young man winked at Sara, drawing a barely disguised scowl from the man behind her. Reaching into his pocket he tugged out a card and passed it to the attractive brunette. "Give me a call next time you're in town."

"I will…" Sara assured him and followed him to the door. "The same goes for you if you are ever in Nevada." She told him, at the same time reaching into her briefcase and pulling out one of the cards she'd had prepared for her lecture, she passed it to him. "Thanks again…Bye." She watched as he made his way down the hallway. She was about to turn back into the room when the elevator dinged to a stop and spit out the same acne infested kid who'd brought up Grissom's luggage the first day. Waving at him she delayed the inevitable encounter with Grissom by hauling her luggage out into the hallway, and shoving a five into the teen's outstretched hand. "I'm on a flight out of Miami-Dade at 12:30… This needs to be on the bus taking me and the rest of the conventioneers there." She leveled him with a gaze that said death would be imminent if her stuff didn't make it to the airport, and then turned back into the room.

It was time to face the music, or bugman, or whatever…

But it wasn't. He had disappeared again; this time into the bathroom where the spray of the shower could be heard.

A heavily pained, though slightly relieved, sigh escaped her chest as she slung her purse over her shoulder, gathered her laptop and carry-on and then made her way down to the seminar room she'd been assigned to. All the while wondering if the emptiness she felt inside was caused by all of the hopes and dreams she'd allowed herself to leave back in the hotel room.

Damn him…

He'd done it to her again.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimers: **I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She is terrific at this beta thing and she has been amazing straight through to the end!

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing. AND IT IS FINISHED.

Rated M for sexual situations…

Thank you for reading and all of your kind reviews - they keep me honest.

**Chapter 17: Respite and Revenge**

It had been incredibly disconcerting to have Gil Grissom staring at her from the back of the room during the entire lecture. Sara wasn't sure how he managed to get there for the beginning of the seminar, but clearly he had speed packed and washed up in record time.

What she couldn't figure out was why he had even attended at all, as it was readily apparent that she was still in his bad books; a fact that was heavily supported by the speed at which he disappeared when the power point presentation was over.

She had, for a moment, considered that perhaps he'd come to watch in hopes that she would fall on her face in front of her peers. But as difficult as he could be to figure out at times, the man she knew wasn't malicious.

He was… confusing.

And Sara was beginning to liken her attraction to him as that of an addiction. The Pink song "Like a pill…" ran errantly through her tired brain, as she dodged the rain and ferocious gusts of wind, and clambered onto the waiting bus. It was almost full and a few of the people who had attended her seminar nodded and commented to her as she made her way to the back and towards the only pair of open seats left. Shoving her carry-on and laptop up into the overhead rack, she dropped into the window seat and placed her purse onto the vacant seat beside her.

It wasn't a conscious action, but as she looked up to see Grissom enter the bus and amble down the aisle in her direction, she realized that she'd held a seat for him despite what her head had instructed her to do, which oddly enough involved the man in question being lassoed to the luggage rack or some such thing.

A thick sigh of resignation escaped her chest, and she kicked herself mentally, before dragging the purse off the seat and plopping it unceremoniously in her lap.

The enigmatic bugman was a dangerous habit you could overcome if you were careful and diligent, but just one slip could send you careening backwards and you would find yourself in the exact same place you started.

It was all her heart's fault.

It truly was fickle

She tried desperately not to look in his direction or think of how terribly cute he looked in his navy slacks and shirt topped off by a bright yellow rain coat, but she simply couldn't do it.

Her dark eyes drifted in his direction and she smiled wanly at him, as he took his seat. The solemn expression he was sporting revealed nothing of what he was feeling, so she turned her attention to the flow of wet people outside of the window instead. For a moment he appeared to want to say something, but appearances could be deceiving and she'd been wrong oh so many times before, so she studied the human traffic just outside the bus with all of the intensity she would give to a science experiment. Some of the people were still waiting to get onto the jet stream, others were hailing taxis, and some who clearly weren't flying out until later, were actually wandering along the sidewalk as if going for a casual stroll.

One woman reconsidered almost immediately when a heady gust of wind yanked her umbrella from her hands and flipped it inside out. The last Sara saw of her she was making a mad and flailing dash back into the dry and comfortable confines of the hotel.

Resting her head against the window the young CSI waited, unsure of what his silence meant, but also knowing that a conversation with an unwilling Grissom wasn't something she was eager to attempt. What she was sure of was the reality that, since he was the one who had come completely undone over what he clearly perceived as her loose sexual history, he would be the one who would have to do the reaching out to repair what there was left of their tumultuous relationship.

Already wounded, she wasn't willing to put her heart on the line anymore.

Not that she was counting on anything intimate with him at this point, anyway, but she was hoping that he would use the amazing brain he had been given, to make some sense of the conversation they'd had in the elevator. Though over twenty hours later, there seemed to be little chance of that. Adrift in her thoughts and caught somewhere between exhaustion and collapse her eyes closed and within moments she was out cold.

A warm hand drawing a sensual path across her neck startled her out of a deep sleep. For a moment she tried to claim the last vestiges of her dream but found that all she was left with was a residual feeling of satisfaction and heat.

"Sara…" His voice was raw. "We're here… at the airport."

Running a slender hand through her hair, Sara tried to shake off the muzziness that was messing with her head. Her sleep laden senses were dulled, but she was still well aware of the moment when the man beside her vacated his seat. The sheer absence of his body heat left her flesh craving his touch, despite her mind nudging her away from the idea.

Silently he hefted her bags from the overhead rack and placed them on the seat next to her before grabbing his own and sauntering down the aisle and off the bus.

Still wasted physically, she followed suit finding, herself at the end of the line when it came to collecting her own luggage from the bowels of the bus. By the time she had it all in hand he was long gone, having managed to assemble his early on, and make his way inside to the ticket counter.

Flicking her eyes towards one of the clocks suspended from the wall, Sara picked up her pace. Her flight would already be boarding, and she was running late.

Tossing her head from side to side she sought out the airline she was flying with and was relieved to find it was only one desk away. On the wall beside it there was a board listing departures, and Sara's flight - second from the top - had _on time _flashing ominously beside it. There were still a few people in line ahead of her as she moved towards her the counter, but none of them bore the physique of a familiar entomologist.

This was not surprising since he'd had at least a 10 minute head start.

There were still three attendants on duty so she made short work of checking in and headed through security, with less trouble than she had at McCarran. This time, not quite so concerned about her kit, she'd packed it in her luggage, making the load she had to lug with her considerably lighter.

They were just pulling the security strap across the ramp when she ran up to the boarding gate.

The attendant, a stubby frizzy haired red head with green eyes and a nasty scowl, allowed the strap to slide back into its holder and held out her hand like Sara's arrival was the most inconvenient thing that could possibly have happened, and that she was well aware that the brunette's late arrival was done solely to piss her off.

The young CSI thrust her boarding pass and passport into the woman's outstretched hand and raked her own glare across red's face.

"You had better move before they close the doors." The grounds woman warned haughtily and shoved the papers back at Sara.

It was then that the statuesque brunette decided that she truly did hate flying.

It may have been perceived by others as a control issue, and the more Sara thought about it, it probably was. But aside from the fact that people inherently were not supposed to fly, she truly was placing a lot of trust in the hands of people who - though educated and trained - were just as fallible as the next person. She disliked having to deal with overburdened and grumpy security people, she despised that she was forever rushing to get from one end of the crowded airport to the other, she hated the falsely happy, or the openly nasty staff that sometimes worked for the airlines she dealt with, and most importantly she didn't like the idea that two people had control of her life and the lives of 350 others while they were a gazillion feet in the air.

Nope… she did not like it one bit, she ruminated as she once again propelled her boarding pass into the hands of a waiting attendant. This time it was the male steward standing at the door; he smiled tentatively at her and then directed her towards first class.

Setting aside her mental tirade Sara inhaled a calming breath and wondered who she would be facing this time; Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

As it turned out neither was present when she placed her bags over head and dropped into the seat beside him. It was her newest friend Muteman who was occupying the window seat, his nose completely buried in a book.

He was so engrossed in it, in fact, that he didn't even look up when she settled in and fastened her belt, or when she reached across him and grabbed the copy of The American Journal of Forensics that he'd tucked into the pocket in front of him.

The only time his eyes shifted her way was when Sara turned her head to scan the rest of first class for a particularly unwelcome professor, but she was wholly unaware of this fact as she dug in for what appeared to be round three of _the silent treatment_.

It was midway through the flight before Sara became aware again, and it wasn't a slow drifting back into consciousness, or even the shocking jostle into reality at the hands of someone or something. It actually was caused by a searing pain in her shoulder brought on by someone spilling and entire cup of hot tea on her.

"What the hell?!" Was all she managed, her head instantly coming up off of the soft shoulder it had burrowed into, and her hand immediately going to the assaulted area.

"I'm soooo soooo sorry." The flight attendant, young, blonde and clearly a newbie, fussed and dabbed at Sara's wet sweater with a damp clump of paper towels, while the other stewardess, a slender beak nosed lady of about 40, grabbed for a first aid kit simultaneously chastising her younger protégé.

"Stop…" Sara ordered, the roughness of the fabric was scraping intolerably at her already tender skin.

This was an all too familiar scenario. Next time she would travel in with the luggage - it had to be safer.

Grissom, who had also been asleep mere moments before, shook the fog from his head and finally found his voice. "Sara…" was all he managed, before she had her seat belt undone and was on her feet.

"I'm fine," her words were pointed and cold and directed at all three people staring at her and anyone else who dared to look in her direction. "I really hate flying!" she muttered, before tugging the first aid kit from the older of the two attendants, and stomping off to the bathroom.

Angrily slamming the door behind her she threw the lock into place and leaned over the counter fighting back her tears…

Sara had lied…

She wasn't okay, or fine.

Stripping her tea soaked sweater off, she examined the reddened flesh of her shoulder, knowing full well that it was going blister over the next day or so. "Damn…" she muttered, spinning and trying to get a better look at the soft tissue of her back. The fluid had initially hit her shoulder, but it had run down her back as well, leaving angry crimson stain behind it.

She was still trying to decide best how to deal with the situation when there came a soft knock at the door. Her response was almost instinctive. "I'm fine…" She yelled, knowing full well that she was going to need some help covering over the damaged area, but equally as sure that she didn't want to see whoever it was on the other side of the door.

"Sara…"

Least of all him…

"I'm fine." She reiterated, before turning and slipping the thick strap of her dress off her shoulder, and reexamining the scarlet area. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire.

"Let me in."

"Go away, Gris…" She told him, at the same time opening the kit and digging around for some gauze.

"No…" He knocked again.

Her search was futile, as it was clear that the supplies had not been replenished the last time the first aid kit had been used. "Just fucking great!" she muttered.

He started banging incessantly. "Let me in, Sara…"

His voice from the other side of the door sounded strained and somewhat concerned.

Staring down into the pilfered supplies, she let out a deep sigh, and opened the door a crack. Dark eyes met two bright blue ones. "I need a different kit. There's no gauze in this one."

"Can I see it?"

She rolled her two dark orbs at him. "Come back with the supplies and I may consider it."

He pursed his lips, and Sara could tell that he was wondering if her request was just a ploy to get rid of him.

Reaching behind her she clutched the kit and shoved it at him.

He examined the small white box for a moment and then nodded slightly. "Okay…" he turned and wobbled off in search of the attendant, the sway of the plane accentuating his already unusual swagger.

Sara closed the door behind her, and allowed her healthy shoulder to lean against it. It was only a moment before he returned.

There was a light rap. "Can I come in now?"

Lifting herself away from the small cubicle's entrance, she swung the door open and stepped back as far as she could to allow him access. "There's really not a lot of room in here." Her dark eyes betrayed her discomfort. "I can take care of it." She reached out for the kit, but he hid it behind his back.

Pulling the door shut he locked it and clutched her gently by one slim arm. "Turn around and let me check it out."

He actually didn't wait for her to comply with his request. Instead he dragged her in front of him and trapped her between himself and the sink. She was facing away from him, so as to allow her a full visual of the concentrated look on his face. He stared solemnly at the injured area, and carefully nudged the strap down a little further so he cold get a full view of her back. "This is at least a second degree burn, Sara."

"It's not that bad…" Her dark eyes studied his, as he gently stroked her ruby flesh. Despite her attempt to hide it, a wince showed openly on her face.

"Right…" One eyebrow rose on his forehead. Dropping the kit on counter he popped the lid and dug around until he found the gauze. "Turn the water on and let it run until its cold." With nimble fingers he shoved the strap down a little further again, this time forcing it to drop a little in the front.

This caused Sara to immediately grab the front of her dress and hold it in place, but not before Grissom caught sight of the upper curve of one smooth breast. His breath caught in his throat, a flutter of attraction burrowing its way into his brain. Swallowing deeply he handed her the gauze. "Soak this in cold water."

Gil Grissom's reaction was not lost on Sara, but she was so far beyond expecting anything from him that she simply chalked it up to an uncontrollable physical reaction; typically male and very reminiscent of the salivation of Pavlov's dog. Taking the item he'd passed her, she did as he asked, hoping desperately that he would hurry so they could get out of the stuffy confines of the airplane bathroom. As much as she wanted to deny it, his proximity still had an effect on her despite her desire for it not to. She passed him back the sopping material and then bent over the sink a little as he placed it over the wounded area.

A low moan escaped her as the cold cloth hit hot skin.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Grissom's palm rested lightly over the area holding the gauze in place.

"What do you think?" She snapped, guilt instantly washing over her as she saw the look of hurt on his face.

"I'm sorry…"

He wasn't making this any easier on her. "It's not your fault unless you have blonde hair, wear a little blue uniform and work for this damn airline…"

"That's not what I'm apologizing for." Blue eyes studied brown ones for a moment via the reflection in the mirror, but they looked away quickly, when a mask of confusion fell across Sara's face.

Shaking her head slowly the tall chocolate haired woman studied the droplets of water clinging to the side of the tiny sink. "Don't, okay..."

"Don't what?" Darkness clouded his expression, his free hand coming to rest on the smooth flesh of her back. Absently, he began to massage the skin there. His touch was almost delicate.

"Just don't." There was a heartbeat during which she allowed herself to enjoy his ministrations. "What are you doing?"

"Someone once told me that pleasure can often offset pain." His hand continued its deft movements. "I'm testing the theory."

God… was all she could think as his hands worked the smooth lightly freckled surface of her back. She wanted to yell at him to stop. What he was doing wasn't fair… but she didn't stop him – instead she challenged him, trying to keep the conversation going so as to distract herself from the intimacy of his touch. "Bet I know who…" Her words came out low and deep, with an almost untamed quality to them.

"No... Actually, I don't think you do." His hand moved up towards her neck thick fingers drawing sensual lines along the fragile ridge of her spine. "It was a professor at the university, who gave a seminar on the connection between pleasure and pain. I never thought to experiment in it until now."

"Really…?" There was surprise in her voice that almost lead way to accusation. The talk around the proverbial water cooler at work had definitely said otherwise.

"Really." It was said in such a tone that there would be no question of his honesty in the matter. "Does it work?"

Her voice caught in her throat as his hand moved down further, toying with the lowest uncovered point on her back. She simply nodded…Yes damn it, it did work…and far to well. "Mmm…" was all Sara could manage, and she followed it up with a quick nod.

A shy smile spread across his face, as his hand continued its intense movement, along her spine and over her scapular area. "Maybe I should write my own entry to the journal."

Sara at this point was beyond caring. Her shoulder still hurt but he was right, the sensation of his touch was very distracting; arousing... Another moan escaped her chest, as she closed her eyes, a shuddering breath bursting from between two dry lips.

Grissom stopped abruptly leaving Sara bereft and longing for his touch. A second later he had passed her the wet gauze. "More cold water on it."

Her shoulder began to burn again, so she complied, her heart hoping desperately that he would resume his comfort measures as she passed him back the refreshed material. Her head was pushing for the opposite: simply to be left alone.

As before, he carefully placed it back on the angry scarlet area drawing a sigh of relief from the woman in front of him. "A few more minutes, and then I'll put some lidocaine on it." He reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a little tube and dropped it on the thin metal counter before placing his other hand on her back. "It should dull the pain for a while, but you may need some painkillers and a doctor to look at it when we get back to Vegas." His hand began to move again his fingers gently kneading her skin.

"I already have a doctor looking at it." Sara's voice was a thick whisper.

"I can tell you what kind of bug is edible, and the life cycle of most insect species. But burns are a little beyond my purview, I'm afraid." There was a hitch in his voice and warmth in his eyes as he studied her pained reflection in the mirror.

"I'll be fine."

"You say that all the time, even when I can tell by the look on your face you're not and you probably won't be." He chided softly.

"How can you possibly know that; when you spend so much time trying to avoid looking at me entirely?" Her words were anguished more than angered. Sara hadn't meant it to come out like that. In fact, she hadn't meant the comment to come out at all. What she had intended was to let him dress the wound, get out of the bathroom, without one of their usual flame throwing sessions, and then indulge in a few ibuprophen, but she could tell by the look on his rugged visage that it was far too late for that. Leaning against the sink she raised a hand and shook it dismissively, her eyes averted from his and her mouth already recanting. "Forget I said anything. I'm over talking again."

His hand stopped its magic and he leaned in carefully, both arms wrapping around her; his mouth drifting dangerously close to her ear. "I look at you more than you know."

She tensed completely. "With anger or disgust, doesn't count…" His expression in the elevator was still fresh in her mind.

"Sara…" His face was a mask of confusion. "I have never looked at you with disgust, or anger."

If looks could kill Gil Grissom would have expired on the spot. "You could have fooled me…" She wasn't going to say it but somehow the words simply fell out of her mouth. "If that's the case then what exactly was it I saw yesterday in the elevator? It certainly wasn't acceptance or understanding."

An ache threaded its way through his chest. "That wasn't directed at you…"

She stared at him back through the mirror. "There were only two people locked in that steel box, Gris."

"Right…" Cautiously he bent over her right shoulder, making certain he didn't touch the burn on her left; his lips almost brushing her neck. "I was mad and disgusted with myself Sara."

A knot caught in her throat, and she found herself unable to speak as his freehand slid upwards and brushed aside hair at the side of her face.

"I knew the minute I said it, that I had no right to. I also knew you were right, but I didn't know how to take back what I'd said." Embarrassment flashed across his face, "The worst thing, Sara… about it is whole thing, is that at my age I have no idea how to deal with stuff like this, and I'm sorry. I know my ignorance has caused you some pain."

Now that was an understatement if Sara had ever heard one, and she was about tell him that too, when she caught the intense look of hope in his deep blue eyes. That was when she knew he had done it again… She was gone - a victim of her capricious heart. She shuddered involuntarily against him.

"I was insanely jealous last night. You know. I mean…" He sucked in a trembling breath, and Sara could feel him quake against the sensitive skin of her back. "I was worried… First… I waited an half of an hour or so and then I went to Durham's to look for you."

The slim brunette shook her head. "You didn't look too concerned Gris. I saw you dancing with Terri when I came back."

"So you met some other guy and went off with him for the night, because I was dancing with an old colleague?" He sounded almost petulant.

"An old colleague…?" Sara's face turned a brilliant red but there was no stopping her mouth. "So let me get this straight, you habitually swap spit with old colleagues?

"No… Sara…"

"Wait. I know. It's okay to lick a colleague's tonsils, but dinner out with a friend is off limits? Or is just me?"

"It's just you…" He knew the minute the words came out of his mouth that he had once again become a casualty of his own romantic inability. He had meant to be honest with her and wanted to fully explain. Instead he just managed to stick his finger into an already open wound.

The slim brunette looked like she'd been slapped in the face. She turned in his arms, a small yelp escaping her as his forearm accidentally brushed against her shoulder. Then she did something she had wanted to do for a while. She punched him.

It wasn't hard or even fully carried out, but she did try, that is before his fist caught hers a mere inch from his shoulder.

"Let go." She shoved at him with her free hand, a wince crossing her face as her movement stretched the inflamed tissue of her back.

"Stop!" She pulled her fist free of his grip and pushed him with both hands this time, but Gil Grissom was solid and in one fluid motion he had both arms wrapped around her, her upper arms pinned tightly to her side. "You're going to hurt yourself. Stop!" He ordered as she continued to struggle against him.

God she wished she could stop.

Stop her heart from not listening to her head.

Stop his words from hurting so much.

And mostly she wished she could stop him from talking and just leave so she could pick herself up again and move on.

This time for good…

She suddenly went slack in his arms. "Okay," she simply gave up. "Just go. Alright…?"

"Not until I get a chance to finish what I wanted to say to you." He'd never seen the young woman in his arms so, despairing.

Her dark eyes looked away from him, instead studying the textured pattern etched into the plastic laminate bathroom wall behind his head.

He moved his head into her line of sight. "It's just you that scares me."

She turned her face away from his again, and shook her head.

"Wait… Hear me out. I know I'm probably going to say this all wrong. But maybe by the end you will get the gist." He forced his head into such a position she hand no choice, but to see him, yet still she averted her eyes.

"Enough okay?" Her voice was very small.

"Look at me, just give me a few minutes. Please?"

A jagged sigh escaped her, and despite her head's order to say no, she nodded reluctantly.

Grissom inhaled deeply, as if for a moment he hadn't been able to breathe at all. "Terri Miller or any other woman, for that matter, mean nothing to me. I don't care what they think or do, so a kiss... it carries no importance. I know that I want something with you. I told you that yesterday morning." He released her arms and brought his hands up to clasp the sides of her face. "You make me crazy and you terrify me and cause me to question everything I do. And I have never been as jealous as I was when I met your _friend_," he ground the word out like he'd been chewing on it all night. "And that frightens me, too." There was a clash of emotion drifting behind his eyes.

"Nothing happened with Durham, yesterday." She found her self saying it despite the fact that she felt she didn't need to, and realistically shouldn't have had to.

"I know. I went to his room looking for you. When he answered he was in no shape to be doing much of anything. So I went to change, and you weren't in the room, so I went to the lobby…" A dark look clouded his face, a rough finger stroking the soft fullness of her bottom lip. "And I waited."

Sara bit her lip, trying impossibly to keep the words on the tip of her tongue from tumbling out. It was entirely no use. Her own jealousy had burrowed its way into her rational thought and taken control. "And then you took Terri Miller back to your room and had sex with her. It's a good thing I didn't come back last night after all; it would have been mighty crowded even in a king-sized bed." Despite the churn of emotions in her chest, her words were light.

Confusion contorted the entomologist's face, and that is when Sara knew she had made a big mistake.

Both hands moved from her face to her upper arms and he stepped away slightly, allowing the cool air from the circulating unit to come between them. "I didn't sleep with Terri Miller. In fact, I didn't sleep much at all Sara. I waited in the lobby, searched the hotel and wandered the streets around here before coming back and passing out at about 7 this morning in one of the lounge chairs." He looked away from her, his eyes falling to the polished shoes on his feet; his voice taking on a little boy quality. "I meant what I said yesterday. I wanted to tell you how wrong I was. When I found you in the room I wanted to explain it all, and then that guy showed up and I realized that I had done it again."

Sara's eyebrows rose, and she shook her head wordlessly, questioningly, unsure of what he was getting at.

"I had pushed you away; this time into the arms of some other guy." His cerulean eyes took on a sapphire quality, and he looked saddened; almost embarrassed.

Overcome by emotion and listening unfailingly to her heart, Sara pursed her lips, leaned forward and into him; her mouth landing tentatively on his. It was a chaste kiss, but fraught with feeling.

Grissom didn't move, terrified that one more misstep and she would be gone for good. He was more that willing to let her call the shots, since if left to his own devices there was a good chance he would fuck it up… again.

When they broke apart both were breathing heavily.

"Ryan Wolf is a CSI with Miami-Dade. Caine, or H…" She grimaced slightly, "as everyone calls him, summoned me last night. They had another murder down on some dock and it looked like it might be connected to the one in my room." Sara's unaffected arm came up and she tugged carefully on the strap of her dress, which had been making steady progress towards her elbow. "I spent a romantic night on a wet and windy dock, looking every bit a total freak in my costume. I even helped process back at their lab, for a while, before I had to head back to the hotel. They have a serial by the looks of it and it is cross-jurisdictional." Brown eyes gazed into blue ones. "Ryan loaned me his jacket. There were no more jumpsuits."

A singular look of relief flashed across Grissom's face. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come with you."

"I told you, I was going to, but when I went into the ballroom to tell you, you were dancing with Terri, so I didn't want to interrupt." She pursed her lips a smile stretching across them.

Gilbert Grissom matched her grin. "We are really bad at this aren't we?" He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers.

Sara laughed and nodded; their noses bumping together slightly. "Yup…"

"Mmmmm…" Grissom's mouth sought hers again his hands drifting to the silky skin of her neck. This time there was no hesitation; lips parted, tongues explored.

The sensation was electric, a jolt of energy ricocheted through the tall brunette as his fingers gently toyed with her sensitive flesh. He tasted like coffee and licorice; a small candy he'd been snacking on when he'd sat beside her on the bus.

"Miss Sidle, I know that two wrongs don't make a right, but two negatives do make a positive, so in lieu of that do you think that two social misfits, if they work together can make a fit?" He was punctuating his words with a series of intimate caresses, his mouth tracing a languid path along her jaw, long elegant neck, pale shoulder, and the small delicate dip where clavicle meets sternum.

It was getting very hard to think.

Sara's eyes closed and for a moment she allowed herself the indulgence of his touch. "Yes." The word was whisper soft, but it unfurled seductively from her mouth offering up hope, and desire. Yet her head would not be denied; the deafening roar of alarm bells went off causing her to stiffen slightly.

To anyone watching it would have been imperceptible, but to Grissom's heightened senses it was the equivalent to a glaring stop sign. He stepped away immediately allowing her room to breath, yet he was reluctant to release her completely so he allowed his hands to slide down her bare arms where he took her slim fingers in his. "Too fast?" His voice was thick with uncertainty, as he searched her dark eyes.

There was fear in them. It was not an emotion Sara Sidle showed willingly or easily.

She was hesitant and had every right to be, he told himself. Just because he was ready, and he finally felt hat he could commit to something with her, didn't mean that she would just fall into his arms; especially, after all he'd put her though.

The young woman smiled sadly at him. "Not too fast. Just…" She unclasped one of her hands from his, anxiously shoved aside a tight ringlet, and leaned back into the small counter; the coolness of the metal that formed it seeped through her thin cotton dress, and sent a quick chill up her spine. "I…" She glanced down at her feet for a moment, trying to arrange her thoughts, before bringing her gaze back up to meet his. "Look, I'm a realist, so I'm not asking for a proclamation of undying love, or a wedding proposal, or even the promise of a commitment. But what I need to know is; what is going to happen tomorrow?" She pursed her lips. "I mean, you're fine with this, _now_, but how do I know you're not going to have second thoughts? Run away again? Ignore me? Pretend that none of this happened? Or worse, decide that it is for the best that we don't continue what we started here, no matter how we feel?" She swallowed heavily. "Does any of this sound familiar?" Her eyes were shadowy and insistent.

Grissom could finally breathe again. He had been expecting something far worse; like _I'm sorry we can't do this, ever… _He nodded silently, his free hand running a nervous path over his lips; the memory and the taste of her soft skin still fresh on his tongue. "You don't trust me…" It wasn't really a question, more a statement of fact. "I know I have been doing a perfect rendition of an ass…" There was a smile in his eyes. "For a long time, now…" he added. "And I know that I have been making decisions for the two of us, when I really had no right to." His hand moved back to her face, a thick thumb tracing a whispery soft path along her cheek. "And you're right. I can't promise forever because we both know that relationships don't work that way, but I can assure you that I want to be with you more than you could possibly know, and that I won't back away, walk away, or run away, again." He closed the gap between them, and pulled her mouth to his. "In fact, Miss Sidle…." He murmured, as he reluctantly released her lips. "I may become such a pest that you may need to tell me to get lost, occasionally."

Sara flashed a careful grin his way. "I think I can handle that."

"Mmm…" The bugman ruminated and then backed away. "Turn around," he instructed.

Her eyebrows rose seductively, but she did as she was told. A second later she let out a soft cry, as he removed the wet gauze from her burnt shoulder and picked up the lidocaine.

"This really is bad, Sara," was all he said, before squeezing a generous pile of it out onto his hand.

The slender brunette closed her eyes while the man behind her carefully worked the cream across her scarlet skin. It numbed that pain immediately, something for which she was duly grateful.

A few minutes later he was done. Hands were washed. The cream was on, dressing applied, and a small kiss had been planted between the edge of the bandage, and the graceful curve of her neck. "All better…?" He announced.

Sara simply nodded at him through the mirror.

"The top of your dress is all wet, so is your sweater…" He nodded in the direction of the floor where the item lay in a crumpled heap. "Did you bring a change in your carry on?"

"I did…" She turned and faced him, her dark eyes searching his for any sign of flight.

Grissom leaned in and kissed her reassuringly, his hand coming up and tracing the swell of one smooth breast where skin met with the material of her dress. "Then take this off, and I'll get you your clothes." With that he was gone.

Sara stared down at the dress she was wearing and though the better of following his instructions. Grissom may not have noticed it, but she was sans bra. I had been a necessity because of the cut of the dress, so removing it would leave her almost completely naked.

Outside the door voices seeped in through the crack she recognized her former mentor's tone immediately, and he was clearly talking to one of the attendants.

"It's a really bad burn…"

"Please tell her I'm so sorry."

It was the newbie attendant; the one who had branded her.

"We're going to be a few more minutes."

"Take all the time you need, seat belt sign is off and airspace is clear. We're out of the path of the bad weather."

There was a quick rap on the door, so she unlocked it and backed away.

"Is this it?" He held out the clothing she'd shoved into her bag.

Sara nodded silently, as he entered and locked the door behind him.

"You didn't get undressed." He was still clutching her clothes, his eyes falling on the brown stain that ran down the front of her. "Do you need help?"

One well manicured eyebrow lifted curiously. It was almost a challenge.

Grissom turned red, and cast a lopsided grin Sara's way. "I mean…" He gave up and held the clothes out to her.

Sara reached out and shoved her hand between the top and pants and pulled out a pink lace bra. She dangled it in front of him.

The entomologist's mouth dropped open at the sight of the dangerously intimidating undergarment, his eyes darkening perceptibly as he examined it with the intensity of a seasoned professional; all the while wondering if she was wearing matching underwear.

"This is why I didn't get undressed." She waved it at him and turned away her chocolate eyes falling on the sculpted metal toilet, now, in front of her.

The bugman watched her from behind; studying the gentle bend of her shoulders and the delicate shape of her long lean arms; as she slowly worked the straps of her dress all the way downwards.

She flinched slightly as she reached across to slide the strap down further, her action pulling at the damaged tissue of the injured shoulder.

That was all the invitation Grissom needed. "Stop…" He told her and brushed her hands away.

"I can undress myself, Gris. In fact I have been able to do it since I was a small child." Her voice hitched as thick warm hands slid down over her arms, taking the top half of her dress with it.

"Elbows up..." He ordered seemingly unaffected by the intimacy of the situation.

With an equal amount of feigned disinterest, she complied.

Within seconds the frock hung precariously around her waist, the pale skin of her back was exposed, the long straight ridge of her spine dividing it perfectly in half. Grissom's breathe quickened, as he ran a cool finger along it. "Mmmm… very, very nice…"

The young woman visibly shuttered, a low moan escaping her parted lips. Her shoulder length ringlets bounced against the creamy flesh of her back as she turned her head and looked darkly at the man behind her. "If you do that again there is a good chance that neither of us will get out of here unscathed." His earlier ministrations had already heightened her susceptibility to his touch.

"Promises…promises…" He tutted and moved closer the heat of his body serving to warm her in the cold plastic space of the small room. A devilish grin spread across his mouth, and he ran his finger along her spine again, this time following it up with a trail of velvety kisses.

A soft gasp escaped her mouth… followed by something almost feral. Some women loved to have their breasts stroked and fondled in the act of love making. For Sara, while that in and of itself was a tactile pleasure, her back was equally, and in some ways even more sensitive.

"You are incorrigible Dr. Grissom…" Sara's words were light, yet contained a seductive lilt to them.

"And you are beautiful, Miss Sidle." He was pressed up against her now, warm breath rasping in her ear.

A shiver ran up the slim brunette's spine. "Gris?"

"Mmhmm…" He was far to busy to answer, at the moment he had his fingers threaded through the soft curls and the nape of her neck and his lips firmly affixed to the silken skin of her uninjured shoulder.

She so did not want him to stop, her head had finally fallen in line with her heart and both were telling her to keep her mouth shut and just go with it, but somewhere in her subconscious a tiny voice told her to offer him one more chance to back away. It was a survival mechanism; a concoction of her own fear. "Gris, don't start something you can't finish." It was meant to come out as an order but ended up sounding more like a plea.

"The attendant said we have lots of time, and I propose an experiment."

Strangely modest despite the intimate circumstances, Sara reached behind her and grabbed her top off of the pile of clothes he'd placed on the counter. Clutching it to her bare chest she turned and grinned seductively at him. "Another one?"

Grissom nodded a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Okay, I'll bite; what kind of experiment?"

"Well I once had this student, turned friend, turned colleague, who told me that she doubted an article that I'd read. The item in question stated that high altitudes can enhance the entire sexual experience, that it can increase the euphoria. Mind you her beliefs were based on a limited and by the sounds of it, poorly executed past experience. I'm just wondering if you would like to test out the theory. After all we are both scientists."

"But we've already conducted one experiment." She grinned at him, a dare in her eyes, and her hand still firmly holding her top in front of her.

"Well see this could be an extension of that." He reasoned, his eyes drifting to the frail outline of her collar bone. "I mean, after all, it does involve alternate stimulation. We could technically kill two birds with one stone." He stared at her, a mock seriousness plastered on his face, his hands already stroking her upper arms. Having denied himself for so long, he was having trouble not touching her.

"Whatever happens here will absolutely not be written up in a magazine, Gilbert Grissom." Sara whispered and leaned into him her mouth seeking his and finding it more than willing.

Taking that as a yes, he pulled her completely to him, the two of them becoming completely lost in their kiss. Somewhere along the way her top ended up on the floor, discarded, beside the damp sweater, and Grissom's broad hands, found their way silken skin of her breasts, his thumbs moving in a circular motion, their actions coaxing her already sensitive nipples to erection.

This elicited a low moan from the woman in front of him, followed by a harsh gasp as he his lips moved away from hers and drew hot trail of nips and licks down across her sternum, and then onto one darkened areola, where he suckled heartily.

The tickle of his beard drove her distraction, but still managed to find herself amongst all of the sensation, and reached down and tugged on Grissom's shirt. "You have a serious advantage here bugman." She groaned slightly under his touch.

Grissom stood up and leaned into her again his mouth capturing hers as he worked to undo the buttons on his shirt. Sara helped eagerly, her slim fingers fumbling slightly as they both labored to relieve him of his top.

She giggled into his mouth.

"What?" His words were hoarse.

"Just…" She kissed him. "This all seems so very, not you…"

His shirt ended up strewn on the floor, and he looked at her darkly. "Do you have any idea how hard it has been, Sara?"

"Your self denial didn't only affect you, Gris." She stared meaningfully for at him for a moment before allowing herself to be pulled into a tender embrace.

"I know. I'm sorry…" He stepped away holding Sara's face between his hands. "You have to know that I've wanted you forever; ever since the first time. Walking away was the hardest thing I have ever done." He kissed her again and held her once more, much like a falling man clinging to the edge of an abyss. He breathed into her hair, at the same time inhaling the soft scent of lemons, it offered.

The slim brunette's healthy arm was wrapped around his neck, while the burnt one had slipped around his waist. She groaned and molded herself into his grip as warm lips worked the soft flesh of her uninjured shoulder. Evidence of her partner's arousal was firmly pressed into the soft tissue of her belly and her body's response was an immediate and uncontrollable rush of dampness between her legs.

Grissom's hands slid down her back and slipped under the ridge of her dress, his dexterous fingers working it down over her hips to expose, an incredible pink lace thong. He couldn't have stopped his reflexive moan, even if he'd tried. "Good God, Sara…" His breath quickened.

Gil Grissom could feel her smile against him, her laugh breaking loudly across his shoulder, as her mouth moved to lick and nip at his earlobe. This only served to draw another shuddering breath from him.

Sara's dress fell into a pile at her feet and Grissom used his own foot to tug it out from beneath her before losing himself in the sweet heat of her skin.

Both were seemingly unable to think, their movements an extension of the desire they'd harbored for so long. Within seconds Grissom's pants had joined the other items of clothing strewn on the floor, and Sara found herself leaning up against the counter, her lower back pressed lightly against it.

In front of her, the enigmatic entomologist was hard at work exploring the peeked skin of her breasts with his mouth. "You're so amazing," he hissed; his tongue eagerly teasing each of her nipples, his fingers dancing along the skin of her abdomen, and then stopping for a second to toy with the tiny dragonfly dangling from her navel.

They both moaned in tandem.

Sara, her eyelids rested almost closed against her flushed cheeks, was lost in the moment; the feel of his caresses serving only to fuel the growing fire in her belly. "Gris…" His named rolled off her tongue like a long forgotten prayer.

In response a flash of heat shot through her as one of his fingers slipped down under the silky confines of her panties and nudged the sensitive bundle of nerves there. She heaved a quivering breath, and let out something akin to a mewling sound.

"Shhh…" Grissom laughed softly and covered her mouth with his to stifle her oncoming moan, as he slipped one long finger inside of Sara and slowly massaged her slickly sensitive opening.

Automatically, she bucked against him, the sensation rolling through her like a freight train on fire, barely able to think, the only thing that came to mind was revenge of the most pleasant sort.

Not one to give up absolute control Sara slipped her hand between their bodies, and up against the length of his erection.

Through, the rough cotton of his boxers she massaged him mercilessly, enjoying his steely hardness under the soft material that covered it.

Her actions elicited a rumbling growl from somewhere deep within his chest, forcing him to step back from her a moment. "God…" he gasped and rested his forehead on her shoulder for a second before stilling her hand. "Sara, love, it's been a while, and I won't last that long." His apology was thick and rasping alongside the skin of her neck. With that he placed her hand on the edge of the counter, and moved his own back to the delicate v of her legs. Ruthlessly, he shoved aside the thin material of her panties and this time slipped two broad fingers inside of her.

A demanding sob echoed through the cabin, as he worked them in and out of her tight canal, the tip of his thumb bumping cruelly up against her sensitive nub with each thrust administered.

"Oh Jesus, Gris…" The words were a tight breath and barely audible, as her world shattered around her into a million shards of glittering color, and her legs buckled underneath her.

A minute later her heart was still trying to pound its way out of her chest, as he held Sara clutched against him, until her legs could finally hold her, again.

The sensation was almost blinding.

For a man who had been out of action for a while, Gilbert Grissom definitely knew what he was doing.

"Inside work, Gris, outside work Gil…" He whispered, pressing his warm lips up against her temple and then drawing her even closer. "Are you okay?" He murmured against her silky chocolate curls.

"More than okay…" Her voice was husky and sated, and she pulled away momentarily so she could look him in the eye, and smiled broadly at him before catching his mouth with hers.

The wake of her orgasm seemed to have tapped an uncontainable energy source, and Sara did nothing to stifle it. Her hand once again moved to the front of his boxers, this time shoving them down to free his generous arousal; it sprang up; ominously thwacking against his abdomen.

"No…" He hissed, but the woman in front of him would have none of it.

Taking his rigid member in hand, she began to move her palm slowly over it, absorbing and memorizing the look of a fully aroused, heavily lidded Gil Grissom.

The feel of her slim cool fingers moving over his turgid erection almost caused him to stop breathing. In a complete loss of control, he shoved her hand aside, and then tugged her lacey thong off.

It flew across the small cabin immediately forgotten, and ended up dangling off of the toilet paper holder.

With an untamed roar he lifted her up onto the counter forcing her to clutch it with both hands or tumble backwards.

She winced and he stopped.

"Sorry…" He rasped, his fervor waning under the weight of his concern. "I hurt you…"

"No…" Sara's steadied herself, and then her hands came up and she enfolded Grissom into a loose embrace; her lips tumbling onto his. "I'm fine." She mumbled into his mouth; her tongue toying with his for a few seconds. A moment later she wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her own slick heat up against his achingly engorged organ.

He moaned, as one of her hands worked its way between them to play with the ultra sensitive tip of his penis. He stopped her again. "You are a devil, Sara Sidle." He accused between kisses.

"Maybe…" She licked her lips and pressed herself into him once more.

He gasped, holding onto his rapidly unfurling control by a mere thread.

"I want you in me, Gil." Sara's eyes were dark with passion as she stared into Grissom's sea blue orbs.

Those six small words uttered with an understated passion were his complete undoing. In an instant he was inside her, a tense huff escaping him as he relaxed into the firm velvety grip of her taut inner walls. He moved slowly at first, doing his best not to hurt her. She was incredibly tight, and the soft cry she'd let out when he first entered her, still rung in his ears, so he tempered his movements allowing her body to adjust to his generous girth. "Are you okay…?" The question came out as little more than a moan, but the brunette in his arms responded immediately with a quick jerk of her hips.

Sara was so lost in the sensations pervading her already overly heightened senses that she found herself unable to talk. Instead, she let her body lead, her and her lover. She moved her hips into him again, the word, "More…" finally managing its way out of her mouth as a soft sigh.

She felt a little like Oliver begging for extra food, but this was a different kind of sustenance. This was a deeply satisfying emotional feast one that they had both denied themselves for far too long.

In response to her demands Grissom sped up, his movements become faster and more frenzied; his warm hands clutching her carefully against him.

The soft cries from the woman in his arms were punctuated by low guttural moans emanating from his own chest. He felt like he was about to explode, the tight fiber mastering his control was slowly unraveling with each thrust.

He moved faster and deeper, his lips fused to the mouth of the woman he had dreamed about for almost ten years.

Wrapped in his embrace Sara's body suddenly went rigid and shuddered almost interminably as a lightening storm passion consumed her for a second time. "Oh God…" she cried into his shoulder, her mouth falling against it to stifle the sound.

This was Grissom's cue to allow himself his own release, and he came with a howl; his own mouth pressed into the shiny tendrils of hair, at the nape of her neck.

They held each other for a while; their breathing slowing to normal, and bodies cooling.

A few minutes later Grissom's hand came up, and he pulled her face to his for a long languid kiss. "Thank you, for giving me another chance." His eyes were bright with emotion.

Sara smiled carefully, a warning held in her eyes. "Last one, okay…?"

"Okay…" Grissom agreed, his lips grazing her forehead.

One eyebrow rose curiously. "So Dr. Grissom…re: our experiment…" Her fingers drew small lazy circles on his shoulders animatedly, as she stared into his eyes.

"Yes?" He grinned, reaching for her bra.

"Would you say the theory is correct?"

He held the lacey undergarment between them. "I think that making love to you here was spectacular, but there needs to further experiments conducted."

Sara stared at him for a moment and then smiled.

"Arms out..." he ordered, and then helped her to thread them into the thin scrap of lace before leaning into fasten it behind her. He was careful make sure the strap sat at the edge of the bandage and away from the burnt skin. "I mean we need to change the parameters of the experiment and say, make love in a bed, on a couch, maybe a table, a boat, perhaps a rollercoaster… so we can confirm or deny the theory, before we are able to state that it is scientific law." Bending over he pulled up his indigo colored boxers, and passed Sara top. "What do you think?"

Sara took the item from him and didn't argue when he helped her slip into it. "I would have to agree with you." She leaned in and kissed him. "What good is a theory if it hasn't been tested or proven?"

"Exactly, Miss Sidle…" He smiled completely at her before assisting her down off the counter. "Oh…" He pulled her up from where she had bent to retrieve her capris and thong, which mysteriously had ended up crumpled in the same corner. "And in case I haven't told you yet…" He leaned in and kissed her again his thick fingers threading their way through her hair, as he deepened it before letting her go. "I love you, Sara Sidle."

**Sunday noon…LV Crime lab**

Conrad Ecklie was nothing if not a creature of habit. Anyone who knew him was well aware that he routinely came in for two hours on each and every Sunday afternoon. It was this visit that he used to justify taking a full Friday off twice a month. Work after all was a numbers game. It was not that he actually did anything while he was there, the truth being that he generally locked himself in his office and played online poker, or video games to pass the time. But at least he could say that he had come in if any one asked, and he knew that his attendance in the lab could be verified.

It was this fact that lead him to believe that the reason he was sitting at a sopping desk with a smoking computer, and a drenched $600 Italian wool suit that was getting smaller by the minute, was the result of an inside job.

He stared up at the ceiling where the sprinkler above his desk was still dripping enthusiastically, and let out a tense curse. None of the others outside his office had gone off.

This was aimed specifically at him and he was going to find the son of a bitch who'd set him up if it was the last thing he did.

Hurling himself to his feet he moved around to the back of the computer, his shoes squelching noisily, and tugged the plug out of the wall, furiously.

Oh yeah – someone was most definitely going to pay.

**Finito…**


End file.
